˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You sleep in Jisung’s cot with Felix every night. It’s where they carried you, after you collapsed. Not that you remember. Everything after the gunshot is darkness. Felix had filled in the blanks the day after, after you woke up. Sunlight on your face, the smell of Jisung, and a warm, skinny body wrapped around your back. A moment of silence. Then, pain. Unimaginable pain.

After the gunshot, you had collapsed. Screaming, sobbing, completely out of your mind. They’d decided you weren’t stable enough to be on your own, so they carried you into Felix’s cabin, deposited you into Jisung’s abandoned cot. Felix couldn’t take it. He told Changbin to heat up some stew for everyone for dinner, climbed into bed with you and wrapped his arms around you. He stayed there all night. Held you through the heaving, desperate sobs, drying your tears, his deep voice murmuring sweet nothings into your deaf ears.

The next day, you forced yourself up. You nearly fell. Felix caught you before you could smash your skull open on the dresser. He had yelled for Changbin, who had stumbled in from next door half dressed, half crazed with panic, expelling the deepest sigh you ever heard when he saw that you were okay. Felix asked him to fetch you some breakfast and some coffee, didn’t allow you to take a single step out of the cabin until you ate. And you did. As much as you could, which wasn’t much, but you did. Then you got up. Reassured Felix that you were fine. Put on your bravest face while the inside of your chest felt like an empty grave. You made it to your cabin. One of Minho’s shirts was thrown over the back of your chair. You broke down. This time it was Seungmin who found you. He didn’t say a word, wrapped you up in a blanket, took you upstairs, deposited you right behind him on the quarterdeck, where he could keep an eye on you, and went back to the wheel. And that’s where you sat. Quiet. Hurting so much, you didn’t know where else to go, what else to do. You don’t remember what you thought about that first day, if you thought about anything at all. But you know you didn’t move until the sun started setting.

Until Seungmin softly said your name, crouched down in front of you, smoothed a gentle hand over your hair. Asked you if he should get Felix.

You nodded. Felix came, whisked you off downstairs, back into his cabin. The smell of Jisung made your body ache, but you couldn’t go back into your cabin. There was nowhere else to go. And here, you had Felix, who fed you soup, spoonful by spoonful as he chattered. You could see the dark circles around his eyes, the bloodshot white of them telling the story he didn’t want to tell. It made it all so much worse.

You stayed that night, and the night after that, and the night after that. And he never turned you away, only smiled at you and opened his arms. Sometimes you would cry, sometimes he would. Sometimes either of you would wake up sobbing in the middle of the night and the other held them. Sometimes you just talked. And sometimes you were both exhausted, and you would simply wind your arms around each other, let yourself be comforted by each other’s warmth and fall asleep.

It became a ritual. The two of you, in Jisung’s bed, against the world.

The second day dawned, and you swallowed it all down and got up again. This time, Felix didn’t even resist. He called for Changbin. It was the first day of the routine that would remain the same every single day. You weren’t a fool, you knew they were doing it for you. You didn’t fight it. In the morning, Changbin woke you and Felix up with a gentle knock, a soft call of your names. He accompanied you to your quarters. (On that second day, when you saw that Minho’s shirt was gone, you froze right there, in the doorway. You had asked, quietly, brokenly, if Changbin knew if they kept Minho’s stuff. The relief was guttural when he said they did. He asked you if you wanted them to get rid of it. You shook your head. Mumbled out a quiet ’never’.) You let Changbin deposit you on the edge of your bed while he drew you a bath. While you washed yourself, he remained outside, telling you the latest developments through the door.

Then he would say his goodbyes, and Hyunjin would stroll in, just at that moment, bringing you breakfast. He sat with you, ate with you, chatted about everything under the sun, until he had to go and Seungmin picked you up, took you upstairs to sit with him while he steered you around the countless sandbanks and islands. You spend your day there, staring at the horizon, quietly gathering your strength in Seungmin’s comfortable, silent companionship, your mind simultaneously whirring and eerily quiet as the whipping sea wind made you at least feel half alive. After the first day, everyone knew they’d find you there if they needed something. Gaon was helping Hyunjin with the next ration plan and wanted an okay for a budget for new bedding? San had a question about armament for when you reached Andros? They found you there. Approached you only after Seungmin gave them a terse smile.

Chan had dinner with you every night. His presence was nice. Calm. Solid. He chatted to you about things going on on the ship, told stories in his sweet voice, good and bad, about his parents, his childhood, his life as a prizefighter before you gave him another option. Then, after dinner, Jeongin would usually knock on the door and take you up to the top where you would both lie on your backs and stare at the stars. Sometimes he would sing as he kept a look-out. You would talk, but more often than not you were quiet. But when you did talk, you often tried to make him laugh. It was one of your favourite sounds in the world, even when it was streaked with sadness right now.

When the moon reached its zenith, Jeongin would help you down the sails, down to where Felix would already waiting, eyes heavy with sleep and, nonetheless, a beautiful smile on his lips. Always hopeful.

And the next day it would repeat itself.

With all of it, you can’t believe it’s only been days since … . They feel like months, these days, as they travel through your body. It hasn’t been long enough to forget. You remember it all too vividly. Warm hands. Golden skin. Raven hair. Cutting eyes. Skin against skin against skin. A heart shaped smile and a giddy little bunny toothed giggle. It hurts so much that you wish you could forget. That time would pass faster, that you could finally breathe again without missing them, missing them, missing them. But you can’t. It doesn’t stop hurting. It hurts so much that you can’t blame Changbin for refusing to leave you alone, even when you bathe. It hurts so much that sometimes you stumble when you get up the few steps it takes to get up to the quarterdeck, and Seungmin has to catch you, has to support you up.

Because you no longer believe Jisung is alive. The way Han Yujun’s captain had spoken, it was clear that he was either dead already, by Trott’s filthy hands, or his uncle would kill him as soon as he set foot into his house again. The realisation had found you deep in the night, Felix’s deep breaths puffing against your neck. It wasn’t sudden, the fact of it just … settled into your bones as you watched the moon through the porthole. The pain spread through your veins so slowly, you could feel every inch of it, until you could feel nothing else. Until your whole body was throbbing, inside out, with the loss of him. You had started trembling again, earth-shattering sobs waking a disoriented, panicked Felix, who had pulled you close, shushed you, asked you if you were okay, if anything hurt. But you couldn’t speak. You wailed their names into Felix’s chest until you fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Where the pain is, there’s also emptiness. A gust of wind sears through the thin material of your coat, the stars twinkle in the big vast nothing above you. It mirrors the big vast nothing inside of you, where it’s suddenly, for the first time – silent.

The kraken is gone. You have no idea where it went. Maybe it finally escaped, broke out of your ribcage with your screams, slithered out of your guts with the bile that you expelled over the side of the ship when your world went black. Maybe Chan had pulled it out of your throat when you were screaming and thrown it overboard. You don’t know. All you know is there’s a quiet inside of you now. It’s painful, like the feeling of an empty stomach when it starts to hurt.

The kraken is gone, and you’re utterly alone with the words you never said. You remember your dad’s lucky necklace. Wonder what they did with it when they found your stepfather’s dead body.

You blink up at the stars again. You wonder if it’s even colder up there. If what’s left of you would just blend into the darkness, or if you could find a purpose there, too. Maybe, if you looked hard enough, you could find Minho again. It makes you want to try.

You try not to think like that, you really don’t. You can’t. Because there’s work to do. Your crew, men who signed onto your legacy because they believed in you, all of them with you on this journey to avenge them. To make them proud, to keep true to your promise. This was bigger than you.

Distantly, you hear the door to below deck open, Felix’ voice, tentatively calling for you. So soft, so gentle, so pitiful. You can’t believe that tone is for you. You never wanted it to be like this. You’re disappointed in yourself.

When he finds you, spots you from the other side of the deck, a relief floods his features that makes something akin to anger rush through you. Felix. Having to worry for you.

“There you are,” he hums, and gently plops down beside you. He’s a calming presence, his skinny little body always running hot, a perpetual smile on his pretty lips, no matter how badly he’s hurting, soft blonde hair somehow always smelling like sun warmed fruit and toasted spices.

“Wanna go to bed?” He asks. More sugar-laced pity.

“I won’t break, you know,” you say, your voice not harsh, but cold. But Felix doesn’t take it personally. Knows you too well for that. Knows grief too well. You don’t deserve him.

“I know,” he hums, leans back a little so he can look you in the eyes, makes sure you can see just how earnest he is, “to be honest, you’re handling this a lot better than anyone else would.”

He’s still smiling, but you can’t bring yourself to smile back. The grief has hollowed you out, so painfully that you can feel the cold biting into the shell of you. You wish you could forget. You just want to forget.

You shrug and Felix shuffles closer again, throws an arm around your shoulders. It feels like second nature now. Like Felix had always been attached to each other.

“You don’t always have to be so strong, you know?” he says softly, “none of us expect it of you.”

You shake your head, stare straight ahead.

“You may say that, but we all know that reality is different. If I fall apart, who will lead you? Everyone will lose their respect for me. I will leave you all floundering when we’re so close to the goal, just because of my … no. I can’t.”

You grimace, shoot him a pained smile, but you can’t look him in the eye.

“And don’t worry, I won’t come crawling to you every night forever. I will get over it and your life can go back to normal. I can sleep in my quarters tonight, if you want me to.”

Felix shakes you slightly, scoffs, stares at you like you’re being ridiculous.

“Don’t be silly,” he chides. “Have you considered that I need you there, too? Because I’m grieving, too?”

You swallow harshly. His pain, their pain. A brand new well of pain that you can’t even bear the thought of right now. Because it might be the one thing that makes you give up. You steel yourself. It hurts.

“It will get easier,” you force out, your voice colder than you want it to be because you don't believe it either. The pain feels eternal. But Felix once again just seems to understand. He sighs.

“You always talk like your feelings are a choice.”

Something noxious spreads through your body.

“They are. They have to be. How else am I going to survive this?”

A tear drips from the tip of your nose and you curse. You were doing so well, keeping your violent crying fits to when you were curled up with Felix in Jisung’s bed late at night. You can’t start falling apart out here. It’s a slippery slope to a point where you break down entirely, in front of all of them.

“Like Jisung taught us,” Felix says softly, “You love. Let us love you, let us take care of you. Let us return a fraction of what you’ve given us all by taking us under your wing, protecting us, fighting for us when nobody else did, all on blind faith. For leading us for all these years, for keeping us safe and fed and clothed and gifting us a family when most of us thought we would never have one again.”

His words are so genuine it makes nausea settle in your stomach. It’s too much. Too fucking much.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, you know that,” you mumble and Felix laces his hand with yours, squeezes.

“But what if we want to?”

It’s hard to feel, but something warm does bloom, deep in your chest, in the middle of all the cracks and rubble and blood. It almost hurts more than the emptiness.

“And promise me something, captain,” Felix adds, and you look up at him. He looks wise beyond his years in the moonlight. You wonder when that happened. Another thing you missed, failed to see in time.

“When we find them? Let yourself love them, too. Loudly and openly. We would never think less of you.”

You shake your head, your whole chest aching with emptiness emptiness emptiness.

Love. Felix just says it like that. You can’t, but you let yourself use the word now, in the most private corners of the newfound emptiness where the kraken and your heart used to be. You let yourself finally call it what you think you always knew it was. Calling it love only now that it has turned into past tense. You loved Minho. For years, probably ever since you met, since the first time your eyes met and your souls intertwined so tightly you could never be separated again. You loved him with every touch, every kiss, every smile behind closed doors. Oh, you loved him more than you’d loved anyone.

And you’d grown to love Jisung. He, who had waltzed into your life, so likely to be your enemy, but really unlike anyone you’d ever met before. Pretty, pretty face and determined little scowl and soft hot skin, protective and genuine and honest and so, so tender. Like a missing piece, slotting into you, giving you more love than you ever thought you deserved, looking at every corner of you and finding something to love there, too. And loving not with fear, but with a devastating heart-shaped smile, like it was easy. He made you believe that maybe it could be.

But then death found you again, after years of quiet watchfulness, and took them both from you. So cruel, to give them to you to touch, to hold, just to rip them out of your arms before you could even have enough time. You wonder if you did something wrong. If you missed a sign somewhere. If it was trying to teach you something. But no matter how many times you turn it all over in your head, you can’t seem to figure out where you went wrong.

There was blood on your hands again. The people you loved were all dead. And there was nobody to blame but yourself. For failing over and over and over again.

“They love you, too, you know. God, I hope you know,” Felix continues, scoffs like he’s just made a private little joke. “Minho has loved you since the day he met you. He’s devoted to you, mind, body, and soul. And Jisung?! Jisung has risked everything, has fought us all just for a chance to be with you. He reveres you. The way he looks at you, you should see it, when you walk in the door it’s like the sun has risen, and he’s staring straight at it …”

A sob racks through your body, your whole body like an open wound. You dig your nails into your arm so hard you may be drawing blood. But the physical pain does nothing to dull the grief.

“Stop, Felix! Please … don’t,” you sob. “I- I can’t … they’re gone. Don’t … I know what I’ve lost. Don’t make it worse, please, I know … I know …”

“We don’t know if they’re gone–” Felix starts, but you wail, shake your head so vehemently it makes you dizzy. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrap your arms around you like it will stop making you feel like you’re about to fall apart. But there’s nothing that can help. Felix rubs his hand up and down your arm soothingly.

“I can’t do hope, Felix,” you sob, let your head fall onto your knees, “I can’t spend the rest of my life waiting for them to come back.”

“Would you wait for the rest of your life?”

You sob again. You feel like you’re slowly breaking into pieces. The shiver is back.

“For them? Yeah.”

Felix pulls you in, then, into his solid chest, and you let him. He cups your head with one of his soft hands. You cling onto him. A cold gust of wind sweeps over the ship. He pulls you closer, grabs one of your hands in his.

“Let’s go to bed, your hands are freezing.”

The 9 more days it takes you to reach Andros Island fly past you in a blur of pain, emptiness, and your newfound routine. You no longer try to snatch moments alone. It’s like Felix’ words broke something inside of you, unleashing a self-hatred, a disappointment so sharp and unbearable, for everything you could’ve had, everything you never knew you had, that you’re scared to be alone. Scared what you would do if you were.

You don’t know if anyone notices, but you no longer look behind you. Even when someone approaches you from your back, you don’t turn. You walk around them, or wait until they approach you from the front. Keep your back to the wall. You can’t turn, when you know he won’t be there.

Every day you remind yourself of two things.

One: You’ve been alone before. In a way, you always have been. This is no different. You repeat it until you start to believe it.

Two: You have to stick around, if only until it’s done. Because you have a mission. More important than anything else. You will make sure Han Yujun will suffer, for all he did, to the world, to the people, to so many of your men. But now? You will make him beg for the mercy of death for what he took from you.

It’s hard, when, as your body numbs to the pain, you start to see something else in awful clarity. Their pain.

Felix cries, too. With you, yes, but sometimes you wake up in the night, and he’s quietly, privately sobbing into your back. Like he doesn’t want you to hear. Hyunjin’s pretty eyes lack lustre. None of his smiles reach them any more. His hair hangs limply, no longer freshly styled and cared for. He hasn’t sewed anything in two weeks, either, his pile of scrap fabric untouched in the corner of the living area. Chan and Changbin’s smiles come much less easily, their shoulders are always tense. They seem almost jumpy, especially when there’s any unexpected noise or someone yells. Seungmin doesn’t seem to have changed much, on the outside, but you can feel it. His silence is different now. When he speaks, it’s slower, quieter. When he looks at you, it’s like he doesn’t just worry for you, but like the weight of the world sits on his shoulders. And Jeongin – Jeongin almost never sings now. Only late at night, when he thinks everyone is asleep. Sometimes you can hear him when you lie awake in Felix’s cabin. They’re all sad songs. Gut-wrenchingly devastating melodies, lyrics of loss and pain. They break your heart. You never bring it up.

The knowledge that you failed them torments you day and night. That this is your doing. You failed Jisung, you failed Minho, you failed your crew. They counted on you to keep them all safe, to protect them from those who hurt them. To protect them from more pain and loss, of which they all had too much, as you well know. It’s what you always wanted, to give them hope again, a home again. But you failed. Yes, they may still be fine, but their beloved friends are gone. You failed to protect those they loved. They didn’t deserve to lose more people they loved. Especially not because you weren’t smart enough to see it coming, to anticipate that Han Yujun would be a step ahead of you. Twice. It’s unforgivable.

The need to make it right is what drives you forward, what forces you to detangle your legs from Felix’s every morning, drag your leaden body away from the only comfort you know. It’s what dries the tears in your eyes, makes your heart deaden in your chest as your soul becomes more and more murderous. In the absence of them, there is only violence.

Because you can’t lose again. You won’t. You won’t be too slow. You won’t be dulled to their machinations. Because you have to see it coming this time. Or it will cost you everything.

This time, you will do what you should’ve done in Trott’s house. You should’ve given yourself before you ever lost one of them. This time you won’t hesitate. It’s set down on a piece of paper, in the top drawer of your desk. Just a few words. Making your ship over to the one person you know would keep her safe.

This is what you hold on to, until the last day dawns and Andros Island lies clear and green on the horizon. Today will be Han Yujun’s last, if by your sword or someone else’s. Even if it costs you your life.

Felix looks at you differently that morning, Hyunjin falters when he steps into your office. You don’t want to think about why, if it’s the sick sort of determination in your eyes or if they’re scared you’ll fuck up again. You wish you could tell them that you won’t, that today, you will not hesitate, that you’ve prepared for this. But you don’t. If they knew, they would try to stop you. And you can’t risk that.

When the Andros Town harbour comes into view, you have built a wall around your heart so high you no longer have space for doubt. Only acceptance. It’s almost peaceful. Hopeful, in a way, even though you don’t believe in that kind of thing, usually. But the possibility is enough.

The wind is in your hair, the sails flap in the wind. Seungmin yells some last-minute orders to the men manning the sails, Hyunjin arms everyone to their teeth where they wait above deck. The air is buzzing with a nervous sort of anticipation that settles into your bones.

Everything is fine until your eyes fall on another ship, moored closely to the shore.

No … it can’t be …

You stumble backwards. Seungmin’s eyes find you immediately, his body half turned around, a hand already stretched out to you while his eyes still scan over your body to see if you’re hurt, then the horizon, trying to figure out what has upset you so much. But he couldn’t know, could he?

“Anchor next to that ship up there,” you tell him, and to his credit, he only hesitates for the barest moment before he complies.

And the closer you get, the more undeniable it is. It’s his ship. The Captain’s. Your captain, the man who had saved your life, who taught you everything you knew, who had faith in you when you didn’t know yourself. You don’t know what’s scarier – the thought of meeting him again after all this time, or the thought of his ship, but with someone else manning it.

And then there’s the obvious question: what is he doing here? What business could he possibly have on Andros Island, the most avid of the anti-privateer islands. Could he be after Han Yujun as well? Or worse, could he be on his side?

Your mind is spinning so fast it’s making nausea bloom in your guts. That’s what’s left now, after the kraken has disappeared. A gaping emptiness that makes you feel seasick. Ironic.

You swallow it down, will the dizziness away, focus on steeling your voice as you order your crew to pile into the dinghies and row to land. Ignore even Felix’s imploring look as you wait for them all to head out. Chan refuses to sit anywhere but by your side as Changbin rows you out as the last boat, ‘in order to better be able to protect you’ as he said.

It’s silent in the little boat as he rows, the oars slapping against the calm surf, the sun beating down on you on a day that’s as cloudless as it could be. You can’t tell if that is meant to be a good omen, or if death is laughing at you again, preparing to take you in its cold embrace while you stare up into a brilliant sky, and, if you’re lucky, the loving faces of your crew.

“There are other pirates on shore,” Chan murmurs, rips you out of your thoughts. “I’ve never seen them before. Do you think they’re the ones from that ship we anchored next to?”

You nod, try not to let your eyes linger on the shore for too long, foolishly trying to avert the moment of truth for a little longer. You pinch yourself forcefully for being so childish, but it’s what loss has done to you. Leaving you a brittle shell of yourself on the most important day of your life. Pathetic.

“Do you know if they’re friendly?” Chan asks, hesitantly, carefully.

You realise he wants more, but there’s only so much certainty you can give him.

“If they are who I think they are, then there’s a good chance they will be.”

Changbin gives you a funny look, before turning to Chan, clearly silently communicating between themselves. Before all this, you may have called them out on it. Today, you need to preserve all your strength.

Before long, your dinghy hits sand and Changbin gets out, drags it until you can get out of it with dry feet, offering you his arm as he helps you down. The rest of your crew is gathered on the beach, talking quietly among themselves, throwing nervous glances this way and that. Because none of them know, not even you, if Han Yujun is expecting you, or how he will attack. If he will allow you to come find him or if he will bring the fight to you. But so far, it’s quiet.

A little ways down the quay, the strange pirates sit. They’re loud, relaxed, chatting and laughing raucously, taking long draughts from their flasks. It’s in stark contrast to your crew, high-strung and wary. The strange pirates are sharpening their weapons – at least now you know they’re here for a fight, too. You just hope to God it won’t be against you.

You push through your own crew, make down the beach towards them, two sets of footsteps, Chan and Changbin by the sounds of it, immediately breaking off the group to follow you.

As you approach, familiar faces start to stand out – still the same, only a little older. Some of them get up as you approach, their eyes widening in recognition. They look friendly, excited almost, but you don’t allow yourself to let that give you any hope. They turn somewhere in their crowd, and then, as you’re nearly there, almost close enough to speak, their group parts.

A familiar tall man, dressed in all black with a matching big black hat, turns around, and you fall to your knee without even thinking, your body reacting before your brain can think better of it.

Chan and Changbin freeze behind you, Hyunjin makes an undignified noise, then there are more footsteps hurrying along the beach behind you.

You hear him laugh, low and baritone, as he walks up to you. He places a big, calloused hand on your shoulder, and you shake like a leaf.

“Now, now,” he hums, “that’s hardly necessary any more, is it captain Y/N?”

Your head spins, your body feels like it’s not your own, but somehow, you manage to rise to your feet, meet the Captain’s eyes.

As soon as you do, it’s like all the years never happened. He still looks the same, though a little bit older. The wrinkles around his eyes are more pronounced, his nose is bigger, silver streaks running through his unruly black locks. There’s a new scar over his eyebrow.

“Captain,” you manage to say somehow, your voice still a little shaky.

He smiles at you.

“It’s been a long time.”

“I’ve asked for you,” you blurt out, breathless, “every port I landed, I asked for you, wanted to make sure you and the crew were still out there, still fine. But we never crossed paths.”

He shrugs. He’s still smiling, widely and warmly and affectionately, and it simultaneously gives you pause and makes your heart ache with it. He never used to smile this much – at least not at his crew. At you, sometimes, if you did especially well, but even then, it was a rare treat. He was a serious man, with the weight of all the years and losses on his shoulders. But now, he seems …lighter.

“Ah,” he says, “it seems it wasn’t meant to be yet then.”

He says it so easily, as if you didn’t hope, for years and years, that you could see him again, get closure, get … anything. And now you’re here. Without them. You huff out a laugh, but it’s dry and painful. Tears start prickling at your eyes, unbidden.

The Captain pauses, his face pulling into a concerned frown. He places a gentle hand on your arm and leads you down the beach, towards the line of trees bordering the town. Suddenly, he stops, looks over your shoulder in surprise.

“Sorry, sir,” you hear Hyunjin’s voice, shaky but determined, “but we promised someone we would protect her if he wasn’t here to do it.” Pain, pain, pain, empty, hollow, sharp.

The captain seems to think for a second, then nods and leads you further until you’re finally out of earshot of the two crews, dozens of pirates probably oh so curious about what you were breaking down over now. You dig your nails into your palms until you’re sure you’re drawing blood. You wish everything would stop spiralling out of control.

“How have you been?” the Captain asks, and you scoff out a painful laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chan and Hyunjin.

They’re standing a little ways away, their eyes trained on you. They look ready to sprint into action.

“I’ve killed everyone I’ve ever loved,” you mumble.

The Captain stares at you for a long moment. Watches as you swallow drily, avert your eyes.

“What do you mean by that?”

You can’t look at him when it pours out of you.

“There’s something wrong with me, captain. Everyone I get close to, everyone I …love,” you choke out the words, “they all die. My father, my mother, now …”

Your throat constricts, an echo of the kraken, a painful convulsion in the emptiness. You gasp in a breath of air.

“The one who would protect you, the one they’re here for,” the Captain interrupts you, with a nod towards Hyunjin and Chan, “is that who you lost?”

You nod.

“Him and … I lost both of them. I … killed them.”

You look at the Captain and to your surprise, he smiles, sadly, but softly.

“Silly girl,” he hums, “people die all the time. The whimsy of the fates is not something you have power over. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

You stare at him. The words filter into you, travel through you, make something inside of you tip off balance. You’re too stunned to speak. He places a comforting, solid hand on your shoulder, squeezes. God, he would’ve never done this back then. He was harsh and cold, always said he wasn’t your friend, he was your captain. The crew had always had to rely on each other to patch each other up after a fight, to sort out fights, to help someone through nightmares. It was one of the reasons why you decided to never be like that, why you always wanted to be close to your crew. Or maybe, a mean part of yourself supplies, you just didn’t want to be alone.

“Don’t take responsibility for things that aren’t your fault,” the Captain continues, “life, and especially this one, it claims its victims at random. There’s no pattern, no celestial plot to torment you. You will find love again, probably have an abundance of it, if the way your crew is looking at you is anything to judge by.”

He looks over at Chan and Hyunjin. When you don’t react, he places his other hand on your other shoulder, gives you a soft little shake. It’s sweet, you think. Fatherly. You would’ve killed for this back then.

“You did well for yourself. Your reputation precedes you, everywhere they speak of you, of the hard fight you choose to fight every day, and how you do it fearlessly and with everything you have.”

He laughs suddenly, loud and rough, and the sound is entirely unfamiliar to you.

“Just the other week I got a drink on the house when the barkeep heard I knew you,” he laughs out, squeezes your shoulders one more time before he straightens up, smiles down at you. “So don’t worry, you’ve done well.”

You shake your head in disbelief, a soft laugh escaping past your lips. You wonder if it’s the first one since.

“I always wanted to say thank you,” you mumble before the rest of your courage leaves you. “For saving me, back then, for taking a chance on the random girl that showed up with blood all over her face. For not taking advantage of me and teaching me everything and giving me my ship–”

“Don’t. You deserved it,” he interrupts you, waves you off like you didn’t need to say anything more.

You scoff.

“I didn’t do anything back then, how could I have deserved it?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, another enigmatic smile on his chapped lips.

“When you walked up, all that determination, that strength in your eyes, the blood smeared over your brow, I knew that if I didn’t take you on, someone else would. And they would take advantage of that determination and use it for evil. Call it instinct, but something told me you could do a lot of good. And now look at you.”

You blink at him, his words a brutal reminder of the reality waiting for you when you return to your crew. Briefly, you wonder if he will have to watch you die today.

“That’s what we’re here for today, actually,” you say slowly, cautiously. You try to straighten up, find some of the decorum fitting your status, instead of crumbling like you’re still 18.

You decide to take the chance, to tell the Captain straight out, to take a gamble on what you know about him, what you’re seeing in his eyes, what you know about Han Yujun and his hatred for all privateers and their hatred for him, and if that fails, in your history – and hope it won’t be the third bad decision you make that will cost a life.

“Well, to be precise, we’re here for Han Yujun,” you start. You keep your eyes on the Captain’s, watching for any micro-expression that could possibly tip you off. “You know what he has done, to this island, the people, the whole region. He’s a leech, a corrupt murdered. And we finally got a lead. Evidence to take him down, once and for all. That evidence was stolen, along with …” your voice breaks and curse yourself for still being unable to say it, but you push through, keep talking like nothing happened, “so we’re back to a more primitive plan: go in there, take care of him the old-fashioned way, find new evidence and get his administration and his coconspirators to hang.”

The Captain takes a moment to contemplate your words, then he nods.

“We’re here for Han Yujun, too,” he finally says, and you hold your breath.

“I’m not nearly as good a person as you are, Y/N. We’re here because he hired us to ship something,” the Captain admits and he looks almost sheepish. “But then had us attacked on the way there. His hired guns were pathetic, no match for us, but they still managed to blow a hole into our ship. So we’re here to demand our payment – and get revenge.”

The breath you expel feels like relief, like hope. You have a chance now. You have a chance. With the captain’s crew and yours combined, you have a force of around 70 pirates. Han Yujun’s house guard, even on a good day, shouldn’t measure more than 30, most of them young and inexperienced, no match for your experienced fighters.

You stick out your hand.

“Well, then, Captain, may I suggest a deal? We fight him together. I get his head and enough evidence to topple that corrupt government of his. You can have as much money, as many jewels, anything you want from his house, as much as you can carry, and the satisfaction of a revenge well exacted.”

The Captain’s lips pull into a smirk, something like pride in his eyes when he takes your hand in his and shakes it.

“Deal, captain Y/N,” he says, throws a glance towards the beach where your crews are still lingering. Then he steps back, gestures for you to move. “You lead the way.”

Chan and Hyunjin are already watching you when you turn around and meet their eyes. You can read the question in their big, hopeful, eyes, the way Chan runs his hand through his hair nervously. You give them a small nod and an even smaller hand gesture that tells them to keep it quiet, but Hyunjin can’t entirely fight off the triumphant smile that threatens to take over his face. But they step back, dutifully bow, stand by as you pass them and follow you back to where your two crews are waiting.

The crews are quiet, each amongst themselves, eyeing each other curiously, but not a single pirate reaching out to the other yet. You’re proud of your men, proud of their loyalty, that they waited for you to come back. A memory bubbles up. Minho, spread out in your sheets, chest bare, hair mussed, both his arms crossed behind his head. His eyes closed, a pleased, almost proud smile on his face. ‘Well, of course they’re loyal. They have the best captain in the seven seas. They’d be stupid not to be.’

“Men,” the Captain announces, and silence falls over both crews. You ache, but a salty breeze picks up, and you feel more alive than you have in days.

“Han Yujun will pay today. We will get our pay and what he owes us for trying to fuck us over.”

A cheer runs through his crew, rowdy and loud. He holds up a palm and they fall silent.

“Captain Y/N and her crew are here for him, too. They have their own fight with him, one that demands his head. And I think it’s safe to say it’s in the interest of all of us, as men, as pirates, as the outcasts of this wretched society, that he is finally dealt with. Captain Y/N will make sure he pays with his life. Let’s make sure we give her and her crew all the support she might need.”

“Three cheers for captain Y/N! Let the pig die!” A voice exclaims from amongst the ranks of the Captain’s crew. Kind eyes, wide nose, half long hair. A memory of his tireless patience, teaching you how to shoot on the outskirts of Nassau in the burning midday sun. Sungjin gives you a smile and a wink. The smile you give him back is almost real.

When you turn to your crew, the first eyes you meet are Felix’s. He refused to be left behind today, fighting proficiency be damned. He said it was because, if Han Yujun was going to die, he wanted to be there to see it with his own eyes. But you think he probably also couldn’t stand the idea of being all alone on the ship with no way of knowing if everyone would come back. You had made Changbin promise to protect him at all costs.

Felix’s expression is grave, determined. He nods, knots his hands together in front of his chest. This is good. I have a good feeling about this he seems to say. You’re inclined to agree, for once. He sticks a fist into the air.

“Down with Han Yujun!” he yells, at the top of his lungs.

Your crew cheers, so does the Captain’s. A small smile creeps onto your face.

At least if you die today, they will still be here.

And so begins the long traipse through town. It’s quite the spectacle: A gaggle of almost 70 rowdy pirates, stomping and singing, rattling their swords, battle cries and laughter, spearheaded by you and the captain, followed closely by Chan and Changbin, Hyunjin and Felix right behind you.

It becomes quite clear, quite quickly that the Captain’s men are louder than yours – and a great deal more bloodthirsty. It’s evident in every single one of their raucous yells. The townspeople that happen to be in your path scramble to get out of your way, hiding in shops and alleys, peering at you with wide eyes. It was oddly satisfying, and so liberating. No false restraint, no playing nice or coy or pretending like you aren’t on a warpath. Only rage, determination, momentum.

But once you finally leave the expensive part of town behind, pass from clean paved streets into the dusty, dirty roads of the poorer districts, the mood changes. Children come running, men and women stick their heads out of windows, doors, watch with fascination as you march through. Some of the Captain’s pirates yell to them, tell them that you’re heading to the governor’s place, that the governor will die today – and before long, there’s cheering, locals joining in with the raucous yells, some working men even joining your procession, with shoddy weapons of their own, more determination in their face than sense. But you don’t stop them.

An uprising against Han Yujun had been unthinkable for so long, his bloody reign over the island and stores of his power seemingly endless – but now, with a small army of angry people, thirsty for justice, there was a chance. And you wouldn’t want to take this chance at revenge from anyone.

And God, maybe you were empty, maybe it was hard to live, but this is what you’d been fighting for for years. You and … you and Minho. Together. If you know one thing, it’s that he would’ve wanted you to finish it. He would’ve wanted you to pull through, make him proud. The pain shudders through your body, but it’s warm this time. You will make him proud. You will avenge him and Jisung. It won’t bring them back, but it will bring you just a sliver of peace.

When you lift your head, Han Yujun’s house lies right in front of you, at the end of the street. At first glance, it looks a lot like Trott’s, though where that one was a cheerful yellow, this one’s a ghostly white, weathered with time and bleached by the sun. It’s also twice as big, the garden only sparsely planted, an ugly water fountain in the middle of the too short lawn. The columns on his house are marble, so are the tasteless statues, cheap copies of European art, no doubt, dotted around. Your stomach turns at the display of wealth when you know what he has been doing to the people.

You approach the gate and the Captain’s men press forward, shove against it until the chain breaks with a loud clank.

A guard appears from the right. He’s dumbstruck for a moment, staring at you, the huge, never-ending group of angry pirates and townspeople, and pales. He scrambles for a tiny gold whistle on his lapel, and he manages to blow one shrill signal before he’s tackled to the ground by one of the Captain’s men.

From the house, what you believe is the courtyard, ten men come running, their weapons drawn, looking behind themselves as they approach. They’re out of breath, one of them already has a deep gash in his arm.

“How …” you mumble out, perplexed. “How are we not the first? Who else is here?!”

The Captain next to you mirrors your confusion, orders his men to spread out, to search the grounds, so there aren’t any more surprises hiding in the expensive English azalea bushes while Chan and Changbin effortlessly step forward to take care of the men from the courtyard.

And that’s when you see it. Out of the corner of your eye.

Emerald green silk, fluttering from a window on the top floor.

Your heart threatens to give out.

It’s Jisung’s jacket, there’s no doubt about it. It’s tied around a broken window frame by its sleeves, fluttering in the stiff breeze, the shining threads shimmering in the sun.

You try to breathe through the sense of urgency, but it's like something’s tugging you forward, as you push past Chan and Changbin. Two more guards try to get into your way. You fight one of them, Hyunjin cuts down the other one effortlessly. The one you’re fighting catches you in the arm with his small knife, but you pay it no mind. More guards come, but your crew has your back. You ignore the blood, the bruising pain as you push forward, towards the house, the courtyard, past the ugly fountain and the azalea bushes.

You round the corner, push your cutlass into the guts of the last guard when you see him–

No jacket, only his white, ruched shirt with one whole sleeve missing, honey skin glistening, brown hair wild and flying as he fights three guards. He’s pouting and scowling, determined, as always, and you swallow down a sob.

Hyunjin rushes past you, and so does Chan, yelling Jisung’s name in relief as they strike at his attackers.

Jisung’s eyes widen, his lips pull into a beautiful, heartbreaking, entirely alive smile and then his eyes meet yours and you run.

The air rushes through your hair and then straight out of your lungs when you crash into Jisung. His arms flying around your waist, lifting you off your feet until your legs can wrap around his waist.

“Baby,” he whispers, eyes wide in surprise, before you lean in and kiss him.

Peaches and sweat and copper and the smell you’ve been sleeping in that’s been fading for the last two weeks but better.Real. Alive.

You breathe him in like it’s the last thing you’ll do on this earth, threading your hands into his soft hair, scratching at his nape until he hums. And he kisses you back, his hand running up your back, pressing you closer, tongue slipping into your mouth, and you want to crawl into his skin. There’s probably blood on your hands, on his, smearing over his neck and the back of your coat. But you don’t care. How could you, when he’s right here. You force yourself to pull back, just enough so you can speak.

“You’re alive …” you whisper, and he melts, his eyes softening, spit slick lips pulling into a smile that feels like the sun is rising.

“I am, baby,” he murmurs. The emptiness inside you throbs.

“Minho …” you breathe, your hands tightening on Jisung’s shoulders.

Realisation zaps over his feature, and he pulls you closer, so close to his body it feels like he’s holding you together, keeping you from falling apart.

“He is, too,” Jisung mumbles, cups your face when the first tear falls. “He’s here, too. We’re both okay, darling. They didn’t get us.”

Relief. Blinding, unbelievable, too good to be true. It’s so big, so all-consuming that it’s too terrifying. You can’t, don’t dare hope until he’s in front of you, not when something else could rip him away from you still.

Your next words force themselves out of your brittle, aching body before you can stop them. Because even if he isn’t, Jisung is right here. You need to tell him. You need him to know.

“I … I love you.”Jisung looks entirely speechless, then he smiles. Your soul sings. He chuckles breathlessly.

“I know, I love you, too.”

A door slams open on the other end of the courtyard and Jisung presses a swift but sweet kiss to your lips before he drops you to your feet. You land, ready. Jisung smirks at you, so maddeningly beautiful, handsome, irresistible the way his eyes glint.

“Now let’s kill my uncle.”

< interlude - chapter XI >

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But then Jisung wandered back into his arms the day after their night together, all bloodshot eyes and shy glances that asked Minho wordlessly if it was all just for that one night and Minho’s arms pulled him closer, slotted his lips against Jisung’s sweetly, soothed his own over Jisung’s pouty bottom lip, across the corner of his mouth until he could kiss the cute little mole right on his cheek. He bit Jisung’s earlobe right after, trying to distract him from just how gentle he just was. Jisung’s startled little gasp went straight to his dick.

He took him to the captain’s quarters, watched as the captain stared from Jisung to him, her eyes lingering on him with a quiet question.

They hadn’t even fucked the night before, after Jisung left. They spent the evening in bed, lazing around, talking, swapping kisses that made Minho’s already bruised lips and his heart ache until night fell, and he watched her doze off into a deeper sleep. The room, completely quiet, only the lapping of the waves against the wood, the sound of the crew far away, a candlewick crackling. He wanted to stay here forever, in this moment, with her.

Then she fluttered her eyes open, looked right back at him and smiled. He smiled back, hoped it wasn’t written all over his face. When her eyebrows furrowed, he panicked for a brief moment that it was.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, softly.

Relief, then nerves. They had avoided talking about Jisung all night, their conversations like everything was normal. Come to think of it, maybe it’s what Minho, what maybe she also needed. Reassurance that nothing changed, even though everything had.

He watched her closely, briefly tried to figure out what she was thinking, but he gave up just as quickly. No matter how well he knew her, her poker face was too good even for him.

So he opted for the truth. He shook his head.

She watched him, her dark eyes boring into his so intensely, before she hummed, let her eyes slip closed again.

“Me neither,” she simply said.

And that had been the end of it. She had stretched out her hand, lazily tugging Minho closer until his head was next to hers on her pillow, his body folded around her, until she could press sweet, sleepy kisses to his shoulder that made Minho smile, kiss her back just as sweetly, even after they blew out the candle, their lips finding each other in the dark again and again and again until they fell asleep.

It’s not like they didn’t do that. She would kiss him sweetly every now and again, let her fingertips skate up his bare arms when he was holding her. Sometimes, a few drops of his devotion would slip past the tight seal he had on his heart and spill into his kisses, make him do stupid things like whisper “I adore you” into her sweaty hair or let his hand linger on her waist while they were on deck.

But they never did this. Spend the night together, in bed, without fucking. They kissed, sure, but they never kissed like that, for hours and hours, giggling in the dark, kissing just for the sake of it, even when their bruised lips ached and their breaths came ragged. But something had changed. Jisung had changed them, and Minho wasn’t even remotely ready to face the extent of what that meant.

He watched senselessly, then, the day after, after he had kissed Jisung in the hallway where anyone could've seen, with an echo of the captain’s kisses from the night before, before he took him to the her quarters. Watched senselessly as Jisung walked up to her, blinking at her with stars in his eyes, mumbling out the question he hadn’t been ready to ask Minho.

“W-would you want me again?”

And Minho got to watch the captain’s face soften, her beautiful eyes widen, her soft, gentle fingers wrapping around Jisung’s wrists, dragging his hands up until Jisung took the hint and cupped her face. Jisung let his forehead tip forward against hers, eyes fluttered shut, his thumbs soothing over her cheek.

“How could I not want you,” he heard the captain whisper, quietly, painfully honestly, before pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was so gentle, yet turned into tremblingly hungry so quickly it made Minho reel.

He thinks that’s the moment he got addicted. Addicted, in a sick sort of way, to the way Han Jisung touched. Because when Han Jisung touched the captain, it was nothing short of reverential.

He kissed her like he couldn’t believe his own luck, smoothed his hands over her body, from her calves up to her face, like he wanted to drag every ounce of pleasure out of her skin, sank his hands into her hair to pull her closer and closer and closer like he wanted her to climb into his skin and make herself a home there forever.

And just when Minho thought it couldn’t get any worse, Jisung would turn, would look up at Minho with an almost dangerous softness in his eyes, and kiss him with the captain’s taste still on his lips, baring himself to him, always ready to take and take and take whatever Minho gave him, the reverential hands he watched on the captain now skating over his chest, down his abs, scratching at his happy trail until Minho had to suppress the tremor that shuddered through his limbs.

Jisung’s hands. Minho found himself slowly but surely haunted by the image of them. Big and strong, nails neatly kept, veiny and knobby in all the right places, usually adorned with a collection of pretty silver rings that made shivers rack down Minho’s spine when they touched his bare skin.

But it wasn’t even just his hands – no, Han Jisung’s whole body seemed to be made by whatever Gods were out there, to be naked, golden, and smoothed against a lover’s. He kissed with his whole body, an ankle hooking over Minho’s as he caressed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his fingers lacing with whichever one of theirs he could reach whenever he was about to come, a thigh wedged in between the captain’s as he pressed his chest to hers.

God, his thighs. Minho had spent the better part of an hour a few days into their trip to San Salvador between Jisung’s legs, sucking the supple, impossibly soft golden skin between his teeth until they were littered in pretty purple marks. If he dug his fingers into them every time he kissed him just to hear him gasp, that was between him and God.

Minho was addicted to Han Jisung. And he was terrified.

He was terrified because he couldn’t deny it, the way he made his whole body tremble with every touch, his heart beating in his throat whenever he smiled at him. He was terrified because he had never felt like this for anyone. Not even the captain. And that scared him even more, terrified that somehow, something had irrevocably changed.

But then, she walked up to him, smoothed her thumb over the crease in his brow in the way he usually did to her and pressed a sloppy kiss to his jaw, and his whole body sang with his devotion to her. Then he knew again, with unshakeable certainty, that what he felt for her was untouchable – and somehow entirely intertwined, but also entirely separate from what he felt for Jisung.

But he didn’t know what that meant for them. For him. For Jisung. He could accommodate the fact of how he felt for both of them, just barely, the pressure of the crew’s eyes on him and his heart already stretched so thin with so many unspoken words that at times he had to force himself to look away. And he knew that Jisung could, his heart on his sleeve, every single one of his actions evidence of just how much he wanted them both – but he didn’t know if she could. If she was willing to.

What if Jisung’s was the kind of love she truly wanted?

She opened up for Jisung in a way she had never done for him. Something in Jisung’s eyes made her soften, unravel, reciprocate Jisung’s affectionate words, shakily, but with determination. More affection than she had ever shown Minho. She had grown softer with him, too, yes, and Changbin had told him, back then, though indirectly, that everyone thought she loved him, but Minho couldn’t help but see everything he wasn’t to her. And he was scared.

But he couldn’t do anything. The trip from Nassau to San Salvador wasn’t a long one. Even in bad conditions, it was barely more than a few days of slow sailing around the numerous islands and sandbanks of the region that kept mostly Seungmin and whoever was manning the sails busy. And at the end of the trip loomed the first step in their plan to finally end their mission, secure their legacy. To take down Han Yujun.

Minho couldn’t get distracted now. At least not more than he already was by the sheer perfection of the two beings that would find him, between hastily closed doors and around the bend of hallways, soft, slick lips and wandering hands and so greedy for Minho and his pleasure. So he holds on. Lets himself feel it all, the fear, the devotion, the unimaginable pleasure they caress out of his body; buries his worries between his captain’s legs, deep inside of Han Jisung’s soft hot mouth.

He will deal with this when Han Yujun hangs. He can’t wait for Han Yujun to hang.

When you dock in San Salvador, nobody stops you. That should have been your first warning.

There is no local police, no coast guard waiting. They let you dock, even though it’s clear that you’re not a registered ship, but privateers, and when you request for you, Minho, and Jisung to come ashore, they just … agree. That should’ve been your second warning.

But as it is, the three of you step onto land, allow Jisung, now dressed in his green silk jacket, the one he wore when he arrived on the ship, to lead you through the small, sleepy coastal town. Jisung’s hair is slightly longer now, his face a healthier colour. But most notably is how he carries himself – calm, confident, his shoulders squared, eyebrows set in a determined scowl. He’s different from the insecure, scared young man that Chan and Changbin dragged into your cabin a few months ago. This life seems to suit him almost naturally – an odd thought, when the rest of you had been thrown into it by circumstance, by necessity, whether you wanted it or not. But Han Jisung seemed to be born for it.

Jisung leads you through the centre of town, past fancy shops boasting luxurious fabrics that you know Hyunjin would love to have taken a look at, past taverns and butcher’s and cheesemongers and flower shops. Past many elegantly dressed townspeople, men in top hats and women in big, expensive dresses, who stare at you unabashedly, a hint of distaste and fear in their powdered faces. But you don’t mind them.

Jisung stops in front of a big, metal-wrought gate, leading into a lushly planted but meticulously landscaped garden. There are palm trees and succulents, but also all shades of expensive English roses, meticulously cut into abundant bushes. A perfectly raked path of pebbles leads up to what you can only describe as a mansion. It’s painted a pale yellow, dark green shutters framing the many, big windows. All around the house, there are tall, white pillars with ornate designs carved into the top and the bottom of them. Two of them hold up the portico that hovers majestically over the gigantic front door, making it look like the entrance to a castle.

The well-oiled gate opens with only the barest hint of a creak when Jisung pushes it open and motions for you to follow him. You can see the uneasiness in Minho’s set jaw, the hesitation in his steps when he follows Jisung in. You trail after them, taking in the garden, still. The feeling that something is off comes back with full force, and you stare at the roses as if they have the answer that eludes you. They only sway in the breeze, wordlessly.

When you reach the door, Jisung doesn’t hesitate. He lifts the heavy brass knocker and drops it against the wood once, twice, three times.

The sound echoes through the house, then it’s quiet. Not even footsteps. Then, there’s a lock being turned, and a surly older British man stares back at them.

“Oh,” he breathes, momentarily forgetting his training, evidence of his surprise written all over his wrinkled, English face, before he catches himself, schools it into a snobbish, condescending half-smile.

“Mr Han! What a surprise to see you here. Do come in.”

He takes a step back and holds the doors open for you, allowing you to enter into a high entryway tiled in light stone, before carefully shutting the door, and asking you to follow him.

The room he leads you to is on the other side of the house, through two stately, Victorian sitting rooms with fake stucco and dark wood and fireplaces that you doubt would have much use in the humid island weather. It’s a smaller room, with only four chairs and two tall windows looking out towards the ocean on one side, a set of heavy oak doors on the other.

“I will let Mr Trott know that you’re here. Please be so kind as to wait here for a moment.”

With that, he disappears through the two wooden doors.

You look at Minho and Minho looks at you.

“I don’t like this,” you say, and Minho shakes his head. The apprehension in his eyes mirrors yours. Something feels off.

Jisung fidgets, visibly nervous where he’s perched on the arm of one of the armchairs.

“I’m sure it’s fine, these places are always uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s not that it’s …”

You’re interrupted by something light blue fluttering in the corner of your vision. When you whirl around, you’re faced with a pretty, petite doll of a girl. She can’t be much older than 20, you think, her cheeks rosy and her eyes big and wide and glassy. She’s wearing a fluttery baby blue dress, her brown hair falling over her bare shoulders in perfect dark brown curls.

Jisung shoots to his feet, nearly topples over with the speed of it. Something ugly buzzes in your fingertips.

“Miss Trott,” Jisung mumbles and bows absentmindedly, seemingly automatically, before he catches himself. He throws you and Minho an embarrassed look. You don’t let your face give anything away.

“Jisung …” she returns, deliberately forgoing his attempt at politeness, “what are you doing here?”

Jisung’s eyes widen, and he chuckles nervously, his gaze ping ponging around the room restlessly.

“I came to talk to your father,” he says, before belatedly adding, “… about business.”

The girl nods, her eyes leisurely sweeping first over Minho, then you, giving you a cold once over, before looking back at Jisung. She tosses her head, the delicate gold necklace on her perfectly smooth, white neck glimmering in the sun, and gives him a honeyed smile. You suddenly feel violently out of place in this room, this house. Big and clumsy and dirty in a world where girls are sweet and petite and pale like fairies. The insecurity makes you reel for a moment.

“Will you be coming more often again? Like the old times?” the girl asks Jisung, coquettishly, blinking her big, pretty eyes at him. Her voice drops a register. “We had so much fun, didn’t we?”

Oh. You understand now. Was he meant to marry her? Did they … sleep with each other? The thought of his lips on her neck, his golden skin in contrast with her untouched ivory, sends a violent wave of ugly, petty jealousy through your veins. Your eyes turn venomous, but the girl doesn’t condescend to spare you another glance. Your fist balls where it’s hanging next to you.

Jisung laughs nervously again, ducks his head. The discomfort is radiating off him in waves.

“Hah, no, I will not be coming more often,” he tells her, the polite grimace on his face slipping slowly, like it’s getting too hard to uphold. His eyes dart to you, and you tear your eyes away from hers. Jisung’s eyes linger on you, searching, puzzled. Minho, behind you, steps closer to him, crosses his arms over his chest as he looks down at Jisung.

Suddenly, Jisung laughs, a real laugh this time. His cheeks flush, his shoulders relax slowly.

“As a matter of fact, I hope this will be the last time I ever have to come to this godawful place.”

The girl’s mask slips and there’s shock, then anger, pulling her angelic features into an ugly scowl. She opens her mouth, but turns and disappears without another word when the heavy wood doors open and the servant appears again.

“Mr Trott will see you now,” he mumbles, haughtily, and gestures for them to come in.

Minho’s hand smoothes over Jisung’s lower back as he guides him inside.

Nicholas Trott’s office is darker than the rest of the house. Almost entirely panelled in dark oak, you think this is what an English study would look like. There’s another fireplace, crowded bookcases lining the walls, in front of one of which sits a big heavy desk. Behind it, is a tall, skinny man of around 50. His hair is unfashionably long, and he doesn’t wear a moustache, like so many others. His eyes have a dangerous glint to them that you immediately distrust.

Trott doesn’t spare you and Minho more than a glance, allowing you to look around the room. One window, but it’s latched tightly shut. Behind Trott at his desk stands an armed guard, pistol and a glimmering cutlass sheathed at his belt. When you turn, you realise the door is shut and there are two more guards behind you, flanking you and Minho perfectly. You’re outnumbered. Alarm shivers through you, but you calm it. You need to keep a clear head. All of your lives depend on it. Han Yujun’s demise depends on it.

Trott gives Jisung a fake smile that doesn’t even pretend to be real. His teeth are bad.

“Han Jisung,” he drawls, “what a surprise to see you here … and alive. Your uncle told us your ship went missing. You were presumed dead.”

Jisung smiles coldly, the muscles in his shoulders jump when he crosses his arms over his chest. Minho next to you shifts his weight from one foot to the other. You can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.

“Well, I’m not,” Jisung quips, juts out his chin. There’s the defensive arrogance again. But Trott’s smile doesn’t waver.

“I’m sure your uncle will be overjoyed to hear it.”

Something cold shivers down your spine at his tone, alarm bells going off in your head.

Trott’s eyes catch on yours. His eyebrows fly up, and an ugly little grin spreads over his face.

“And you’ve brought the famous captain Y/N,” he snarls. Minho takes a step closer to you on instinct. Trott notes it with a little chuckle. “What an honor to have you in my house.”

You don’t give him the satisfaction, just return his gaze steadily.

Jisung breaks the silence. His voice is cold and hard.

“Enough with the chitchat,” he says, and the man visibly bristles at his tone. “We have something to speak to you about.”

You take this as your cue. You step forward, fix Trott with the most neutral gaze you can muster, with the unexplained dread still prickling on your neck.

“Mr Trott,” you pronounce slowly. Your voice doesn’t conceal what you think of the title, “you may not think this now, but I think we have a common enemy. Maybe we can be of use to one another.”

Trott motions for you to go on. He looks slightly on edge, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Good.

“But first, to sweeten the deal, so to speak,” you say sweetly, a dangerous smile on your lips, “I think it’s important that you know that we have proof of your and Han Yujun’s plans to sell your territories to the Spanish for a premium, before staging a coup and claiming independence. And we both know, that should this evidence reach the crown …”

You watch closely and see Trott’s pupils shake. You got the jump on him. It improves your odds. Before he can ask a question, you continue. You need to get out of here.

“But we also intercepted another message. This one was for Lord Dunmore. Han Yujun is playing with you, Mr Trott, promising Lord Dunmore a lot of money and his protection – for your head.”

Trott’s face shutters, his eyes boring into yours.

“So, you see how we might come to an agreement here,” you finish, a lazy smile on your lips. You tap the tip of your boot against the floor. Suddenly, Trott laughs. It takes you by surprise.

“What kind of proof could you possibly have?” he scoffs, leans back in his chair nonchalantly. “How would you have come across it.”

Jisung speaks before you can stop him.

“We found them on two of my uncle’s ships we intercepted. The coded maps, one for you, one for Lord Dunmore.”

Trott laughs again.

A nameless panic drips down your spine. This is wrong. All wrong.

“Mr Han, I get told many crazy stories every day, this one really takes it. Coded maps, you say?”

You notice what he’s doing just a beat too late to stop Jisung, who is already in motion. Jisung’s eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth and blurts it right out.

“We can show them to you, we have them right here.”

Nicholas Trott looks at him then, his smile no longer playful, but almost eery.

He raises a singular hand, and before you can react, a blade is pressed to your neck. You suck in a breath, your eyes twitching to Minho, but he’s in the same position, the guard on his side holding him in an iron grasp, his cutlass pressed against Minho’s Adam’s apple.

The man behind Trott’s desk has managed to capture Jisung in the same type of hold, guiding him slowly but surely until he’s standing behind Trott’s desk, facing you and Minho. He looks petrified, his eyes huge and panicked as he looks from you to Minho. He starts squirming so violently you’re scared he will hurt himself, so you lift a hand, motioning for him to calm down. He does, instantly.

Trott fixes you with his horribly triumphant smile before he gets up, slowly rounds the table. He saunters over, comes to stand so close to you that you can smell the stale cigar on his breath. He smiles down at you, lets his filthy gaze drag shamelessly over your face, down your body. Minho next to you, trashes in the guard’s hold and lets out something akin to a growl.

“I assume they’re in here?” he asks, playfully nonchalantly, as he pops open the button of your satchel without giving you the reprieve of moving away. If your odds weren’t so bad, you would’ve tried, and probably managed to, get out of the grasp of the man behind you already. But with Minho and Jisung with blades to their throat? You can’t risk it.

You watch helplessly as he pulls the two maps and Yeji’s note, your final, big chance to finally take down Han Yujun, out of your satchel like it’s nothing. The satisfaction on his face is sickening. He pats your cheek patronisingly, and you bite down the urge to spit in his face.

“Such a pretty face, such a shame that you’re such a dirty little pirate whore,” he hums, lets his fingers drag down your face. They feel like they’re leaving dirty streaks in their wake.

Minho next to you jerks violently in his captor’s hands.

“Don’t fucking touch her,” he growls, and Trott looks over at him with wide eyes – and laughs. You hear Minho curse, and struggle more.

Your hand shoots out in his direction, a gesture of calm, of ‘I’m okay’.

“Ah, she knows what’s good for her, too,” Trott coos, and this time you don’t hold back. You stare right at Trott, collect a big glob of spit in your mouth, and launch it onto the floor somewhere to your left.

The guard’s grip on you tightens, and you can feel a stinging pain on your neck, before warmth trickles down your skin. The blade nicked your skin. Jisung makes a strangled noise from where he’s watching you.

Trott just shakes his head, almost pityingly, and smiles again, before he turns around and places his newfound evidence on his desk.

“Now, …” he muses, letting his gaze wander over the three of you, “I could let you all go, but that would be stupid. But it would be really convenient if your dirty little gang of misfits could get to Han Yujun first. Soften him up a bit, maybe even do the dirty work for me.”

Then he turns to Jisung.

“But I’m going to keep this one. Who knows, maybe you’ll buy me something yet. And I think your uncle would be very upset with me if I let his supposedly dead nephew get away from me … alive.”

Your stomach drops. Jisung stares at Trott, his eyebrows furrowed. He looks angry, petulant, determined, but somewhere beneath it all you can see his fear, the one he tries so hard to hide. The need to protect him flares in your gut, makes you strain against the knife until more blood trickles down your neck. Minho next to you hisses out your name in warning.

“We’re not leaving without him,” you snarl.

Jisung’s head whips over to you. There’s a glimmer of something in his eyes.

But Trott laughs.

“How sweet. But you are, actually. I’ll make sure of that,” he purrs, and turns to his guards, “escort them back onto their ship, make sure they get on it and sail away before you come back.”

No, no, no, no, no. This is all wrong. The man jostles you, and you try to resist, desperately fighting against the way the blade digs into your skin.

“Jisung …” you breathe out, and God, Jisung looks so sad. You can’t bear it. And yet, he forces a brave smile. It’s almost worse.

“Go,” he tells you, “I’ll find you again.”

The man pulls at you, and you huff in despair.

“Jisung,” you say again, but he just keeps looking at you. “Be careful, okay? Don’t be stupid.”

He tries to nod, but that’s all you see before you’re harshly tugged backwards and out of the room. You feel like a part of you is left behind.

Minho doesn’t speak until you’re being shoved down the garden path, now with the barrel of a gun digging into your back instead of knives against your throat.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho says, quietly.

You look over at him, your brows furrowing in irritation.

“What do you mean ‘he’ll be alright’?”

Minho grimaces, avoids your eyes.

“He can defend himself. We’ll find him again. What’s important is that we get you and the crew out of here alive.”

You blink at him, almost stop dead in the middle of the English roses, but the barrel pressed to your back keeps you moving.

“We don’t trade lives like that, Minho,” you hiss, “I’ve never left anyone behind. Ever. And now … him …”

You don’t know what else to say, not within earshot of the guards.

“He’ll be alright,” Minho just says again, and it makes anger bubble in your gut. But you swallow it down, ignore the loaded silence between you until you hit the quays, half your crew watching from the ship as you and Minho are shoved in front of the two guards, the cold metal still pressing into your back bruisingly.

They’re true to their master’s word. They stay, watch grimly as you board your ship and still make no move to leave.

Hyunjin is the first to help you over the railing, and he stares at you, his eyes pleading.

“Captain, where’s Jisung?”

Your heart threatens to break.

“They took him,” is the only thing you can manage to say before you have to shove past him.

“Seungmin,” you order, “get us out of here. Straight to Andros Island.”

“But Jisung …” Hyunjin says, but Minho interrupts him.

“He’ll be fine.”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘he’ll be fine’?” Felix pipes up, “what are they going to do with him?”

“Ship him back to his uncle, probably,” Minho mumbles. The knowledge that you have no idea what they’ll do to him makes the kraken wake up. It roils and undulates and reaches into every crevice of your ribcage it can reach.

“That is not fine!” Felix yells. He's panicking. You can hear it in his voice. You flinch, your throat threatening to close up.

“He can defend himself! He will have to,” Minho barks back. You see red, whirl around.

“Shut the fuck up,” you scream at him, and the blank violence of it makes Minho recoil. “You don’t get to talk like that. Not when I’ve never … we’ve never left anyone … when … Jisung …”

The kraken roars, winds its tentacles around your ribs, crushes bone, tissue, grips your lungs and squeezes and pulls like it’s trying to tear you apart from the inside.

“Seungmin, away from here. Andros Island,” you order, before you turn to Felix. Your throat is closing in around itself. You have to force your next words out through shaky gasps. “Felix? I promise, we’ll find him again. We will not abandon … him. I swear, I’ll make … this right.”

You push past them, and into the hallway, manage to make it into your quarters and lock the door behind you before you fall to your knees. Your vision dots with black as the kraken roars and screams and wreaks havoc inside of you. Aborted breaths and sobs tear their thorny way out of your throat, your whole body shaking, the thought of Jisung, back with his tormentors, not safe and here and wrapped around you, unbearable. You failed, you failed, you failed …

Distantly you hear pounding on your door, Minho’s panicked yells of your name, the rattle of the doorknob.

But you ignore him as your body starts shaking more and more.

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself across the floor, your knees scraping across the wood, and you barely make it onto your bed, drag a pillow close enough so you can stifle your gasps and sobs, before your vision blacks out.

You can still smell Jisung on the sheets

They come later that night, sometime just before the sky starts brightening with the coming sunrise, when even Jeongin has fallen asleep in his lookout. Perfectly planned. Perfectly executed. 

You’re jostled awake by the sound of wood splintering when the first cannonball hits the side of your ship.

But despite, that reality only comes into focus sluggishly. You’re still fully clothed, collapsed at the foot of the bed, clutching your pillow so hard your fingers ache.

Then there’s another hit, this one even louder. Cold, unadulterated panic zips through your body.

You stumble to your feet, have to catch yourself on the bedpost when the world around you spins. Your head hurts, and you’re shaking; not trembling but shaking, fully body tremors wracking through you and your stomach aches with hunger, your throat raw and painful from the sobs, and you’re so unbelievably cold.

You stand there only for a few seconds, but it feels like a millennium, trying to catch your breath, trying to will your body back under your control so you can go and do what needs to be done.

It’s the thought of your crew that gets you there. It centres you, clears the haze, makes you take the first step, then the second. By the time you reach the door to your cabin, your legs no longer wobble.

It’s only a few minutes after that first hit when you stumble onto the deck, but the fastest of your men are already loading the cannons, and getting themselves armed.

Minho’s there, catching your eye across the ship, softness, regret, then a deep worry in his eyes when his eyes take you in. You can only imagine the state you’re in. He doesn’t even hesitate, waves whoever is talking to him off and approaches you. You want to tear your eyes away from him, but you can’t. But the closer he gets, the clearer the concern swimming in his eyes becomes. You feel bile rise to your throat. He looks tired, too. Unfocused, upset. You want to cry. Scream. Something. But there are more important things to deal with. You swallow it all, ignore the pain and the anger, as he debriefs you.

“It’s an ambush. Han Yujun’s men. They shot straight through our storage area. Not low enough for water to get in, thank God. San and Hwa are already patching it. It seems like it was a warning because they’ve stopped now. But they’re close already, they’ll be ready to board in a few minutes, and we’re barely armed.”

You look at the ship approaching in the dusk, an ominous feeling in your gut that makes dread creep up your spine. You’re not in any condition for this fight.

“How could this happen …” you whisper.

Minho looks at you. He reaches out, but his fingertips only graze the back of your hand before he pulls it back. Like he just remembered you’re mad at him. Your head swims and you have to blink the haze from your eyes again.“They probably were in San Salvador while we

were, we just didn’t see them. And then they followed us. Trott must have been another step ahead of us.”

You curse, try to control the senseless panic in your guts. You’re so fucking angry. At everyone, at no one. At Jisung for falling for Trott’s trap and getting taken from you, at Minho for just letting it happen and treating it so casually, but mostly, and this you know, at yourself for failing to protect them and to win this goddamn fight that should’ve been, was supposed to be easy. You had it all right in front you!

“Get everyone ready as fast as possible,” you order, “and be careful, I have a bad feeling about this.”

And with that, you turn around, try to quell the nausea of dread in your stomach by helping your men lug up weapons, before you come to stand on the bow of the ship, facing Han Yujun’s ship as it inevitably comes closer.

“Captain Y/N,” someone, undoubtedly their captain, yells once the ships are only about 20 yards away from each other. “I’m giving you a chance to give up now. You’re not winning this one.”

You scoff. Their captain sends you an ugly grin that makes shivers run down your spine. You don’t let it show. Your body settles. The pain fades. You know how to do this part.

“We already have one of yours, one that Mr Han will be more than happy to be able to dispose of himself. Do you really want to lose more?”

You raise an eyebrow, and raise your middle finger into their direction, the man cackles out a cocky “suit yourself.”

And then they’re close enough to throw their gang plank, and they’re coming.

It’s chaos, your men as good at fighting as always, but still rumpled from sleep, destabilised by the loss of Jisung, by your almost public breakdown. You watch Minho sink his knife into a pirate’s neck, and you realise you haven’t slept alone in a week. Since Nassau.

Two, big, burly cronies approach you at once. A dirty move. You spring into action. But they put up too much of a fight. You manage to disarm one of them, dodge the other’s knife and then another fist, but it’s taking too long. Your muscles already start to ache, your lungs burn, your eyes have trouble focusing. You land a well-placed punch in the face of the one you managed to disarm, but it takes you just a second too long to turn around, and all of a sudden, you feel the searing pain of a knife slicing the skin of your leg. You yelp before you can stop yourself. Minho’s head shoots up towards you, and the man he’s fighting with takes the opportunity to sink his fist into Minho’s face, hitting him straight in the eye. It makes a sickening sound and there’s so much blood that your mind blanks in panic.

And then the whole scene freezes – because the ugly, smug captain of their ship stands in the middle of yours, in the middle of your men, holding a bomb in one hand and a torch in the other.

You’re frozen, your mind going a million miles a minute, running through one scenario after another, trying to figure out what to do, how to save this, to save your men, to save Minho, who’s bleeding so much, so so much, oh God. But there’s nothing you can do except … watch.

“Anybody moves, and I’m lighting this thing,” the man with the bomb yells, and your breath hitches.

You know your men won’t move if you don’t. They’re your men. But you hold up a calming hand anyway, without taking your eyes off the stranger. He looks so smug when he realises he has the upper hand. You want his head.

“Men, fall back,” he orders before he motions towards Minho and grins at you again. “But we’re taking this one with us. He has killed a few too many of our men over the years.”

You step forward before you can even think.

“Why not take me, then?” you ask, your voice shaky. “I think I’ve killed more. And loved every second of it.”

The man laughs. It’s raspy and wet and disgusting.

“Boss’ orders,” he snarls, and you nearly growl.

“Bullshit,” you hiss, “come on, coward, take me. Fucking try me.”

“Y/N."

Your name. Not your title. Minho’s voice is calm, insistent, and when you meet his eyes you know why. He’s made up his mind. “Let me go, they need you.”

You shake your head at him, the dread filling your body with a dull pain. The kraken seems to grow and grow and grow.

Their captain laughs, motions for his men to go, and they do. File over the plank one by one, laughing and cheering and making obscene gestures at your men. Chan looks like he is one second away from shooting one of them right between the eyes. When you catch his eyes and shake your head, he takes a deep breath. You catch Hyunjin’s eyes next to him, see the question in his eyes as his hand hovers over his revolver. But there’s no guarantee, even if he shoots at their captain and doesn’t miss, that the bomb and the torch falling won’t light the fuse. Or that your ship won’t catch fire. Or that one of their men will not pick them up and do it themselves. They’re too many.

So you shake your head at him, too. His eyebrows furrow, his lips curl into a scowl. It’s desperate, pleading, grows increasingly more so when two of their men drag Minho towards and over the plank. You just shake your head again, screw your lips shut. You can’t. There are too many of their lives at stake. And you know Minho knows that, too.

He goes without resistance, his head held high, still bleeding from his eye, and you hope to God they will at least patch him up.

Minho turns, resists, looks at you before he’s pushed below deck, and it’s like time slows down for a second. He stares, blinks, something in his eyes like he’s trying to tell you something, or like he’s trying to commit your face to memory. The light of the rising sun shimmers over his skin, he blinks, and then he’s out of your sight. Your whole body is trembling. You can’t even hide it. You know your whole crew can see it. So can their captain.

He grins at you. As soon as the last of his crew is off the ship, their navigator at the helm, their sails unfurling and gathering wind, he bows without breaking eye contact. Then he grins.

“Boss is waiting for you,” he says and touches the torch to the bomb.

The fuse sizzles, he drops it, makes a run for a rope his crew have thrown him and leaps onto his own ship.

On your ship, several people leap for the bomb, but Chan gets to it first, picks it up without a second’s hesitation, though the fuse is shortening alarmingly fast.

He throws his arm back and hurls it, as hard as he possibly can, at the enemy ship. But their ship is smaller, just a Brigantine, so much faster than yours could ever be, even faster than Chan could be. It has already turned, managed to manoeuvre their exposed side away from you.

The bomb flies, but it falls short. It plops into the ocean. The fuse fizzles out, and the bomb sinks out of sight within mere seconds, as if it had never been there in the first place. As if it didn’t just threaten everything you had. As if it didn’t just make you lose Minho.

There’s a dead silence as you all watch them sail away. Nobody moves. There is no hope that you could catch them. Your whole body is shivering, and you feel someone’s hand on your shoulder.

Then it echoes across the water.

A single gunshot.

Your world goes up in flames.

You manage to stumble towards the edge of the ship before your stomach turns.

Someone screams, high and loud and mad. You realise after a second that it’s you.

Then everything goes dark.

< chapter VIII - interlude >

series masterlist // skzms masterlist // kofi

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“And you’re sure you want to do this?” Minho asks, softly, as he turns the collar around in his hands.

It’s pink, a little bell hanging off the metal heart in the middle, three different slots available to tighten for size.

Seungmin bought it last week, after five whole days of discussions.

You asked your boyfriends for a collar, and Seungmin instantly agreed. Although it took a little more time to persuade Minho. He wanted it, you could tell by the crimson shade of his ears as soon as you initially brought the idea up—but Minho was the kind of boyfriend that never wanted to hurt you. Even though he knew you enjoyed it, he always wanted to protect you. Seungmin understood both of you equally, which was what helped the three of you work as flawlessly as you did. Seungmin shared Minho’s concerns, heard them and nodded his head silently, while also teasing you for how excited the idea made you.

In the end, Seungmin showed you three collars and when your eyes lingered a few seconds longer on the pink one he added it to his cart that night.

Yesterday the package arrived.

“Minho, I’m sure,” you promise him, “it’s gonna be so fucking hot.”

Minho smirked at you, shy and excited, his eyes locked on yours.

“You know Kim Seungmin loves you on your knees,” he says lowly, “I do, too.”

“You do?” You smile.

“Mhm hmm,” Minho nods sharply, “look so pretty with your beautiful eyes looking up at us.”

“Min, please,” you say, so soon, “put it on me?”

“Go get dressed,” Minho orders, “Seungminnie is gonna get here in ten minutes and then we can do everything you asked for.”

You smile big, excitedly clapping your hands together. Minho chuckles at you, eyes sparkling before he plants a small kiss on your lips.

“Go on,” he says, enamoured, before sitting back on the bed—collar still clutched tightly in his hand.

You quickly go to the bathroom, where your outfit is waiting on the counter. You get dressed, your new matching pink lace set fitting your body perfectly. The thong is a little tight, but you don’t think it’s gonna stay on for too long—so you don’t mind it much.

You take a look in the mirror, silently thanking Seungmin for his taste in lingerie; it makes you feel so incredibly sexy. You can’t wait to feel their eyes on you as they see the way the pink fabric compliments your curves.

With excitement, butterflies dancing all around your insides, you take a deep breath before walking back into the bedroom.

Minho’s spread on the bed, hand tucked behind his head as he scrolls on his phone. You can tell he’s looking forward to tonight, his sweats doing a poor job at concealing his already present bulge.

When he hears the bathroom door close shut, he looks up. His mouth falls open, front teeth peeking out as he looks you up and down three times. Then, “holy shit.”

“You like it?”

Minho swallows, eyes growing wide as he nods repeatedly.

“God, bunny,” he says, slightly breathless, “look at you.”

“I think I like it better when you look at me,” you chuckle.

“I’m looking,” he says, licking his lips, “god. Fuck.”

He sits up, his phone long forgotten and with a small flick of his fingers calls you over. You waste no time at all, quickly climbing on the bed to sit by his side.

“So pretty like this,” he runs his hands over your hair, softly brushing it with his fingers. “Pretty bunny.”

His hand leaves your hair after a few moments, running down your bare back before he softly cups your ass.

“So soft,” he hums, tucking his finger under the fabric of your g-string. He runs his finger up and down, tugging it tighter around you.

With his other hand, Minho runs his fingers over your stomach, higher and higher until he cups your tits in his hand. He’s gentle, rubbing his thumb over the soft lace and when your breath hitches he starts circling your nipple through your pink bra.

“Wanna touch you all over,” he mumbles, “but I don’t think it’ll be right to take these off yet. Look how perfect your tits are in this.”

You blush at his words but Minho is too distracted by your chest to comment on it. He pushes the cup down, only enough for your nipple to peak out, and then he rubs his thumb over it in quick motions.

You moan softly, mouth gaped and body already reeling from the touch. Something about Minho not even undressing you before he starts playing with your body ignites a fire in your stomach.

He leans forward, looking up at you as his lips wrap around your nipple, sparkling eyes locking on yours as he flicks his tongue repeatedly around your sensitive bud.

“Min, that feels really nice,” you sigh, carding your fingers through his soft hair. He smiles up at you, tongue flicking through his open lips before he closes his eyes—eagerly sucking around your nipple.

With a soft pop he moves away, rubbing his hand against your waist before giving the same attention to your other breast, eager to keep hearing your soft moans.

His hands join together behind your back, rubbing up and down freely before he cups your ass. He hums, content, the vibrations against your skin sending butterflies into your core.

He pulls away again, satisfied for the time being, looking up at you.

“I had an idea,” he says, lowly, “there was something else in the box I didn’t show you.”

“What was it?”

Minho reaches underneath the pillow, pulling out a long and white fluffy tail. You feel your face burning up.

“Why didn’t Seungmin say anything?” You ask, excitement buzzing through you at the idea of wearing a tail with the collar.

“This one was my idea,” Minho admits, a shy smile on his face.

“You can put it on me,” you say with a grin.

Then, Minho turns it around, showing you the small butt plug attached to the end of the tail.

You let out a small gasp, your lips forming a perfect circle at the realisation Minho actually bought you a toy like this. Your cheeks are so warm.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” you admit, taking the tail into your hands and inspecting it closer. The plug itself isn’t too big, but since the three of you don’t experiment with anal that often you know you’d feel a stretch either way. You feel your walls clench for a moment at the thought of wearing it.

“I didn’t expect it either,” Minho admits, cupping your ass and rubbing circles on it with his palms. “When Seungminnie showed me the website it popped up and I added it. I don’t know, bunny, the thought of you on your knees with a little tail between your legs made me so hard.”

“I want you to put it in, Minho,” you say, and your voice sounds foreign in your ears, “please.”

Minho nods.

He slips one of his hands beneath the pink fabric of your thong, his other hand gripping your ass hard. He brings his middle finger to your hole, circling it softly.

You grip his shoulders, breathing laboured as you lock your eyes on his.

“I need to get the lube,” Minho says, pressing the pad of his finger flat against your hole. You know he can slip it right in if he wanted to—but you can’t deny he’s right. His fingers are too dry and the slide won’t be easy at all, so Minho prefers to simply tease the entrance with his finger. It makes you moan either way, the novelty of it all and the sensitive nerves sending pleasure through your body with something as simple as this.

“I’ll go get it?” You offer through a small sigh.

“Delivery is on its way,” Minho says, leaning forward towards your chest and kissing around it.

You’re not sure what he means but you ignore it when he slowly starts pushing the tip of his finger in and out of your hole—in and out, in and out. You don’t think he inserts more than a centimetre inside you, but it still feels so so snug. So weird. So fucking good.

You hear the front door open and close before Seungmin’s voice follows with a small, “I’m home!” and the butterflies in your stomach start soaring.

Minho chuckles lightly, feeling the way your body reacts to Seungmin’s voice. “Excited to see our puppy?”

You nod happily, a broken gasp leaving your lips when Minho slips his finger in deeper. “He’ll be so happy to see you like this.”

The door to the bedroom practically flies open, and Seungmin doesn’t even say hello. He leans over you, a bottle of lube in his hands, and without any prior warning—he spills it directly on your ass.

It’s cold so you hiss loudly, but Seungmin only shushes you in return.

More and more of it trickles down your body, all over Minho’s finger and down to your cunt. All you can do is moan as Minho easily slips his finger all the way in, knuckle deep.

“There you go,” Minho coos, “take it, baby.”

“Feels so nice, Min,” you let your head fall forward, focusing on the pleasure the stretch provides you.

“Let me look at her, hyung,” Seungmin says, his voice covered in an edge you can’t quite place.

You let your eyes flutter open, moans tumbling freely out of your mouth as you look at Seungmin. He was at an important meeting, you aren’t too sure for what, but he was still wearing his smart clothes. They were so different from his every day sweats, and although you loved him in anything he wore, there was something particularly beautiful about Seungmin wearing tight fitting dress pants and a fashionable cardigan.

You wanted him to rip his clothes off.

“I knew you’d like the tail hyung got us,” Seungmin smirks, his eyes drinking in your outfit before settling on your lips, “knew you wanted it in every hole.”

“Seung,” you let out, ears growing warm at his accusation.

“I’m wrong?” You don’t answer, “our dirty little pet doesn’t like how hyung is fucking her ass right now?”

You moan as Minho makes a point of adding a second finger at that exact moment.

“Stretching you so well,” Seungmin mumbles, looking behind your back at Minho’s actions, “your holes were made for this.”

You reach out for Seungmin’s hand, pulling him closer to you, and he laces your fingers together as he sits down beside you.

“You bought the cutest set, Seungminnie,” Minho says, as he watches Seungmin’s fingers run over the lace.

“You chose the cutest tail,” he returns.

“I-I’m ready,” you sigh, “I want it in me.”

“She’s said that so many times already,” Minho reports, “she really wants it.”

“You want your collar, too?” Seungmin asks, sweetly.

“Yes, please,” you try your hardest not to sound too desperate, but the way they both laugh at you makes you think you failed.

Seungmin plants a soft kiss on your cheek before he looks around for the collar, and when he finds it somewhere on the bed he shakes it around. The little bell rattles around with a small repetitive dingdingding. Seungmin smirks.

“Oh, this is gonna be so fucking hot,” he chuckles, eyes lighting up.

Minho slips his fingers out slowly, kissing your shoulder as he tells you he thinks you’re ready now. You nod. You have no idea if he stretched you wide enough, but you don’t care. You just want them to start already.

You watch as Minho grabs the tail from the fluffy side, dowsing the plug side with lube before he looks up at you. The cautious look is back in his eyes, and he hesitates, but once he sees your blown pupils and quick breaths he leans forward.

He circles the plug around your hole a few times, letting you get used to the coolness of the lube (unlike Seungmin) before slowly pushing it inside you. He pulls it out, then back in—in out, in out, before it slips all the way inside you with a loud moan.

“Oh, my god,” you sigh, “feels so tight.”

Seungmin runs a hand up and down your thighs. Minho starts playing with the fluffy ends of the tail. You can hear him giggling.

“It’s okay, bunny?” Minho asks when you fall silent.

You nod, clenching your fists tightly to stop yourself from touching your clit and derailing the whole evening. Your senses are on fire, the tightness of the plug causing your walls to flutter repeatedly. You try to focus on your boyfriends, who are looking at you curiously.

“I have so many things I wanna do to you, bubs,” Seungmin says, “you’re good to let me ruin you?”

“Please, Seungmin,” you groan, “ruin me as much as you want.”

He chuckles. “Let’s get you dressed, yeah?”

He opens up the collar, watching you slowly as he secures it in place. He locks it on the first loop, the loosest option, and kisses you softly.

Minho runs his hands through your hair, delicately pulling it up into a ponytail as he pushes it away from your face. You aren’t sure when he got the hair tie, but he’s delicate with it, even pulling out a few strands from the side like how you always do.

“Thank you,” you say, surprised.

“So it doesn’t get in the way,” he explains. Your heart skips a beat, understanding they must’ve discussed what they wanted to do tonight beforehand, leaving it as a surprise for you.

Seungmin leans over your shoulder, kissing Minho’s lips messily, before the older pushes him off.

“Youngest first,” Minho says, pointing at the box at the edge of the room where the rest of the toys came from.

Seungmin gets up from the bed, grabbing a matching pink leash out of the box.

He secures the leash onto the collar, giving the handle to Minho before he steps back.

He opens the button on his pants.

You watch as he lets them fall onto the floor, pooling around his feet, along with his boxers.

His cock stands against his stomach at full hardness already, and you swallow tightly.

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho grumbles impatiently, “shirt off. We wanna see all of you.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes but acquiesces, chucking his shirt to the side.

“He’s so pretty,” you voice out loud.

“I know,” Minho agrees, reaching his fingers towards Seungmin's stomach. He runs them up and down the soft skin, and you watch fascinated as small goosebumps rise on the skin of his thighs.

“Minho,” you let out breathless, “I wanna bite him.”

Minho laughs, almost evilly. “I think you should.”

“Yeah?” You blink at Minho.

He nods. “You know how much our boy likes that kinda thing. Do what you want, bunny. I’ll pull you back if I want to, right?”

Your eyes move towards Minho’s hand, thick veins accenting his knuckles as the bright pink leash sits securely in his hands. You clench your thighs together.

Minho grabs one of the pillows and drops it to the floor, right at Seungmin’s feet.

“Down, pet,” Seungmin commands. You have to hold back a moan.

You slowly move onto the floor, knees comfortably sitting on top of the pillow Minho provided. Each small movement nudges the plug inside you—you feel so dizzy with want, with excitement, you aren’t sure you’re even in your own body.

But knowing Minho is holding onto you, connected to him by pink leather, puts you at ease. Minho would never let anything happen to you, and Seungmin would kiss you better if it ever did.

You get into position, holding onto Seungmin’s soft thighs.

“Open,” Seungmin orders, running his thumb across your chin. You open your mouth, instinctively sticking your tongue all the way out as you get comfortable on your knees.

Seungmin laughs at you, shaking his head softly.

“You were waiting to do that, huh?” He says, lowly.

You nod your head, and the bell around your neck starts clicking.

“Such a pathetic girl,” Seungmin whispers, “letting hyung stick a fucking tail in your ass? And you liked it?”

“I liked it so much, Seung,” you whine, “it feels so nice.”

“You didn’t even thank hyung,” Seungmin points out.

You feel a small tug at your collar, so you turn around towards Minho. He’s lying back, hand tucked beneath his head again, his black t-shirt showing off his arms beautifully.

“Thank you, Minho,” you say.

“For what?” Seungmin pushes.

“Thank you for fucking my ass with the tail,” you choke out, heat running up and down your entire body.

Minho doesn’t say anything, but you see his knuckles tighten around the leash.

Your chin is tugged harshly as Seungmin turns your head back towards him, smiling wickedly at you.

“Good pet,” he says, “now I’m gonna fuck a different hole of yours. And you’re not going to stop until hyung pulls you off, yeah?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “please.”

You feel Minho’s hand rub up and down your shoulder, as he plants a small kiss on your temple.

He grabs your hand, holding one of your fingers up.

“One finger means green,” he explains, kissing your knuckle. Then he holds up your second finger, “two means yellow,” then he unravels your whole hand so all your fingers are pointing upwards. He kisses your open palm before saying, “five fingers means red. Can you do that for us, bunny?”

“I can’t speak?” You ask after Minho gives you a small kiss.

“You’re allowed to,” Minho says, “but he’s gonna fuck your throat so you probably won’t be able to.”

You clench around the air, shifting on top of your knees.

You nod, fingers tingling at the idea before you look up at Seungmin.

His cock is bright red already, the head glistening slightly. You want to taste him.

You squeeze his thighs, making a point of using your nails, and he lets out a soft groan.

“Our pet has sharp claws, huh?” Minho chuckles.

You lean forward, planting a few kisses around his hip bone before you scrap your teeth against the skin.

Seungmin lets out a high pitch sigh.

“She bites, too,” Minho hums.

“Want more,” Seungmin groans as you bite him again, sucking on the skin before you lick over the small indents from your teeth.

Minho sinks his fingers into your roots, scraping against the nape of your neck with his blunt nails. You barely notice it when he guides your head further down Seungmin’s body.

Minho pushes your face against Seungmin’s pelvis, your nose brushing against the thick stubble. You kiss anywhere your lips can reach—but you can’t ignore the heat coming from his cock any longer.

Slowly, you lick the tip once and then twice and then Seungmin hisses, “take it all, pet. Come on.”

You do as you’re told, letting your jaw drop slack as you slip as much of it inside your mouth as you can.

The height isn’t exactly perfect for your current task, so you try to make up for it, lifting up on your knees to make up for Seungmin’s long legs.

Minho notices, and when he does, he tugs on the leash just enough so that you start struggling against his grip. He’s trying to push you back down to the floor.

The lower you are, the harder it is to fit all of Seungmin’s length inside your mouth but the more you try to lift up—the harder Minho tugs on your leash.

Your thighs are starting to shake.

As a distraction you focus on fluttering your tongue against Seungmin, sucking harder around his warm cock as the salty taste takes over your thoughts.

You want him closer, you want more, and when you drag your body towards him your pussy rubs just right against the pillow you’re sitting on.

You moan around him, and Seungmin throws his head back from the vibrations. Minho tugs on your leash in warning.

“Don’t even think about it,” he says.

Obviously, you do it again.

“Up,” he orders, “on your knees, up.”

You lift yourself up, struggling to sit up on your knees, but thankfully it’s much easier to control what you’re doing that way.

When you start finding your pace, head bobbing up and down freely, Minho tugs on the leash so quickly you lose your breath for a moment or two.

Once the collar isn’t digging into your throat as much you try to breathe in, but Seungmin holds your head in place.

“Such a warm hole for me,” he mumbles, “you don’t need to breathe, right?”

You look up at him, blinking away tears as you breathe in quickly through your nose.

He tugs at your ponytail until his dick falls out of your mouth. You gasp in as much air as you can.

“What do you like more, slut, breathing or my cock?”

“Your cock,” you say, embarrassingly fast, “it’s better than anything else.”

“God, you’ve gone entirely dumb,” Seungmin mocks, eyes narrowed at you.

You nod, the bell rings along with your movements. “Keep going, Seungmin. You said you’d ruin me, please fucking ruin me.”

“Hyung,” he whines, “I’m gonna cum all over her fucking face like this.”

At that Minho grabs you from behind, small hands covering your head as he guides you back onto Seungmin’s cock. You quickly swallow him in, getting used to the weight of him in your mouth again.

You grab onto his thighs for support, making sure to dig your nails into the skin again. As you let go of any control you have, you allow Minho to push your head up and down, up and down, while Seungmin gets louder and louder.

You bring your hands onto his stomach, scratching five long lines on each side from his hips to his thighs.

Seungmin keens.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he starts chanting, “do it-do that, do that again.”

Minho runs his hand down Seungmin’s back, scratching harshly as Seungmin lets out his loudest moan yet.

“Make her choke on my cum, make her choke on it, fuck fuck fuck—“

Minho shoves your head down until your nose is flush against Seungmin’s pelvis. You look for air anywhere you can but there isn’t much. The tip is so deep inside your throat you’re sure it can be seen clearly through your neck, but neither of them can see anything when you’re pressed flush against Seungmin.

A moment or two of nothing but Seungmin’s moans and you gagging, and then the salty taste gets stronger and his cum fills your throat in a sudden gush and Minho pulls you off in a matter of seconds.

You don’t even open your eyes, too overwhelmed by the speed of it all, focusing all your efforts on making up for the lack in your lungs without actually choking on your boyfriend’s cum.

Once you recover enough you remember to swallow what’s left in your mouth, the rest spilled all over you and the pillow and your brand new pink lace.

You feel a hand on your chin, cleaning you up, and when you open your eyes Minho’s looking you up and down seriously.

“How are we doing?”

“Green,” you practically moan, “keep going, I’m not done.”

“Calm down,” Seungmin chuckles, sitting on the edge of the bed, “you sucked my soul out.”

You grin at that, pride filling your chest at the state he’s in.

His chest is covered in a sheer layer of sweat, bangs sticking to his forehead even though he styled them away from his face today—and his cheeks are bright pink. There’s scratches all down his thighs; you imagine his back doesn’t look any better. He can barely keep his eyes open, still breathing in and out with effort.

“You’re so fucking hot like this, Seung,” you groan, “please, I can go again.”

“I can’t,” he falls on his back, covering his face with his arm as his chest raises up and down rapidly. “Leave me alone.”

You look up at Minho, eyebrows lifting in a silent plea.

“Go on,” he says, one corner of his lips lifting up into a smile, “hump his thighs.”

Seungmin groans, as if protesting, but he spreads himself on the bed until he looks comfortable. Then, he lifts his arm away from his eyes.

He licks his lips and you notice his breathing has settled down slightly. He doesn’t move, barely reacts as you climb onto his thigh and drag your cunt over the soft skin.

You groan as the damp fabric rubs against your folds.

There’s a constant ding ding ding from the bell, the sound spurring you on to go faster and faster.

“You did so well,” Minho praises, “and you’re so eager to do more. You have to cum for us first as a reward for all your hard work.”

You nod, “yeah, thank you. Thank you, Minho.”

“Like when you train a puppy to do tricks,” Seungmin explains, “we’re gonna let you cum as your treat.”

You whine at his words, dragging your hips back and forth at an aching pace.

“Show off your tail, baby,” Minho mumbles, “looks so fucking hot when it bounces around like that.”

You can’t imagine there’s any kind of grace in your movements, far too concerned with chasing the pleasure to think of how it looks—but Minho’s eyes are frozen on your ass, completely enchanted by the fluffy white tail.

It’s only when he slaps your ass, the surprise causing you to fall forward on Seungmin’s chest, that you feel yourself on the edge of cumming. The drag of your cunt against Seungmin’s thigh and the newfound angle nudging the plug inside you just right causes your moans to get more intense, louder, more desperate.

Seungmin grabs your tits with both hands, “bubs, cum.”

He says it like a command, like all the other commands he gave you so far tonight, and your body has already learned to react to anything he says.

You instantly start shaking in his hold, tingles running all the way from your toes to the tips of your fingers as your orgasm crashes through you. You clench tightly, the plug making it all the more sweeter as you ride it out for as long as you can.

You collapse on top of Seungmin, a content hum echoing against your chest when he pulls you into a hug.

You watch as Minho lays down next to Seungmin, brushing any stray hairs that fell out of your ponytail from all your efforts. You aren’t sure when he stripped down but he’s completely naked now, and you let yourself indulge in the beautiful sight of his bare body. From his sculptured chest to his thick thighs to his gorgeous cock sitting angry and needy against his stomach.

Seungmin kisses the top of your head, then lazily kisses Minho’s cheek.

“How are you, baby?” He asks.

“So hard I could cry,” Minho chuckles.

Seungmin’s hand wraps around the base of Minho’s cock, squeezing tightly.

Minho groans loudly, the sound so different from how composed he’s been so far. You can see his desperation when he shuts his eyes tightly, mouth hanging open.

“Bunny,” he groans, “how are you?”

All you can do is lift up two fingers.

“Need more rest?” You nod.

“Don’t worry, hyung,” Seungmin says, giving Minho’s cock one full stroke, “I’ll take care of it while our baby rests.”

Seungmin holds you in one arm and uses the other to keep pumping Minho’s cock. Minho moans freely, letting himself enjoy the attention finally being on him.

You know he prefers giving when it’s the three of you, and especially when you decide to try one of your own kinks, but he still loves when the attention is on him—and who wouldn’t love one of Seungmin’s big hands all over them?

No more than thirty seconds pass before you decide you’ve rested enough.

“Let me sit on it,” you mumble out, “want his cock in me.”

“She still sounds so desperate,” Seungmin hums, “we can all barely move but she’s still hungry for cock.”

Minho smiles lazily, grabbing at the leash and pulling you towards him.

You aren’t very graceful when you climb over to his side but you have to do it quickly, the collar already pressing down on your windpipe.

Minho helps you settle on his thighs. You notice just how much bigger they are than Seungmin’s when the stretch in your thigh deepens from the prolonged positioned you’re in.

He pushes your ruined underwear to the side while guiding his cock towards your entrance. He nudges the tip against your clit, spreading all your wetness on his cock before he easily slips it inside you.

It feels tighter than usual, the plug sitting snug right by his cock, and you can cum from the thought alone.

“You two look so good together,” Seungmin mumbles, cupping his balls. With his other hand, he brushes Minho’s hair out of his eyes. “I’m so in love with you two.”

Minho thrusts up, hard, surprising a squeal out of you.

“Oh my god,” Minho groans, “tell him if he says that again I’ll cum.”

“Seungie,” you start, and Minho instantly picks up his pace, practically drilling into you from below, “S-Seungie, tell Minho how, fuck, how much you love him.”

“Shut up,” Minho warns, snapping the leash. You clench as your breath hitches, but that doesn’t stop you.

You wrap your hands around Seungmin’s cock, at full hardness again already, and start lazily stroking him.

He bites his plump lip, blinking slowly at the pair of you.

“Fuck, I love you two so much,” he groans. You pump him faster.

Your coordination is awful, and Minho’s thrusts keep jolting you around, and all three of you can barely move but neither one of you will stop.

It should be awkward. You think it’s nothing less than perfect.

“Hyungie is the best boyfriend I could’ve asked for, and you’re the best girlfriend. It’s like I have the entire world here with me when we’re together. I’m so lucky you two are mine,”

You feel Minho’s dick twitching inside you.

“Say it again,” you whine, “fuck, Seung, I love you.”

He sits up enough to kiss you firmly on the lips, and it’s one too many things to focus on so you don’t think you do a good job of it at all.

You try to put all your energy on Seungmin’s cock, knowing Minho is controlling his own pace well enough, but Seungmin already came tonight and your hand isn’t fast enough.

Still, “Seungmin, I love you so much,” Minho moans. “Fuck, I love you both with my entire heart.”

“Minho,” you whine, not used to him saying things like that so desperately.

“Hyungie,” Seungmin says as he pulls him in for a kiss, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The three of you start breathing desperately, all broken moans and messy kisses.

“I need you two like I need air,” Seungmin says.

“I couldn’t breathe without either one of you,” Minho agrees.

“Fuck,” you gasp out as Seungmin pushes the tail deeper inside you, “I need you two, I need you two more than anything.”

“I’m gonna cum,” Minho warms.

“Min, I love you,” you kiss him, “cum for us, Min, wanna feel you so close inside me.”

“M-me too,” Seungmin groans, “gonna cum, too.”

You can’t be the only one left out, and so you quickly start rubbing your clit in figure-eights with your free hand. It’s a mess of movements and an unsynchronized chorus of moans—but soon the three of you are all hit with it at the same time.

Minho gets there first, and it’s a domino reaction when Seungmin notices his boyfriend cumming inside his girlfriend, and your body reacts to the pair of them slowly after.

Minho carefully guides you off his thighs, ignoring the mess between your legs and the way it’s slipping out of your cunt and all over the bed.

He unlocks the leash, opens the collar and throws it off to the side somewhere. He only needs one hand to do so, and you can’t suppress the moan that leaves you from the sight of it. Luckily, they don’t think much of it as the three of you are all still sensitive.

Minho slowly, and with a few reassuring words, slips the plug out as well.

The pair of them rub over your neck and your sore thighs and your exhausted wrist. Minho takes a bit of water and washes over your neck to make sure your skin doesn’t get too irritated and then he makes sure to give you what little is left in the water bottle to drink. Everything still tastes of Seungmin, though.

After a few minutes Minho settles down against your chest, reaching a hand to hold onto Seungmin’s hips.

You’re sandwiched so closely together you might actually stop breathing soon—somehow it’s still not close enough.

“Kim Seungmin,” Minho mumbles, eyes closed, “since when do you get sappy during sex?”

“Wasn’t my fault,” he mumbles sleepily back, “I was overwhelmed. I truly meant it all.”

“Of course you did,” Minho says, as if stating a fact. “There’s a lot of things I’m unsure of, but what the three of us have together isn’t one of them.”

“If you guys don’t shut up I’ll start crying,” you threaten.

Minho kisses your cheek. Seungmin kisses your shoulder.

“You mean the world to me, bubs,” Seungmin mumbles.

“I will cry,” you groan.

“Fine, I hate you. Happy?” Seungmin chuckles.

You giggle at him, “I hate you, too.”

“Why are you two so annoying?” Minho smiles, big and content. You kiss his cheek softly.

You don't know if you've ever changed, even once, in your life.

You feel like you're still 8 years old and your best friend is the neighbors' elderly dog that they let you play with every weekend. She's a golden retriever, and she would stand taller than you if she could walk on two legs.

You're still 16 and your happiest memories are of a boy who doesn't love you back. But all of your friends say that he does, and oh, how much you want to believe that their words are true.

And at the same time, you're 22, just a few months shy of 23, sitting in front of a canvas showcasing your own bleeding heart. Your growing pains, laid out by acrylics and gentle brush strokes. You liken yourself to the figure in front of you, the one that's standing in the corner of your painting, overlooking a sea of blues and grays. There's a piece of you that's left behind in everything you create. Sometimes, you leave it there on purpose, a memorabilia for your future self to look back at fondly.

You think of everything in your life that has changed and how you're the only thing that has managed to remain the same. The dog eventually dies and the boy moves on with his life. The passage of time is relentless but you seem to be the only one who can't keep up with the tireless flow. You're always running in place, always stuck behind in the end. There's a past in which you still live, one where you don’t know if you'll ever make it out of.

You think of home and the search comes up empty, like it does every single time. Home isn't here inside of your own body, nor is it within the four walls of your childhood bedroom. You've never felt like you belong anywhere. Everything is always fluctuating, constantly and unabatingly spinning and spinning and spinning when all you're asking for is a minute to stand still and catch your breath.

Home isn't always a place, that much you know. Maybe home isn't even a thing that you build but something that you find, in a person or a touch, in a feeling or a scent. Perhaps that's the problem, isn't it? Home is something you find, and you've spent your whole life searching.

People say your early 20s are supposed to be the best years of your life but that sentiment has never resonated with you. These are the years that you spend in excruciating limbo, where you're not an adult but you're forced to be anyway. The years where loneliness is an invisible friend that shadows you day in and day out, a presence you don’t want around but can't seem to shake off, a haunting that's far too gentle to be considered such. These aren't your best years; these are your saddest years.

None of it helps build character. It just hurts.

It hurts. You accept that it hurts. You keep on living, always accompanied by the hurt. At some point, it stops bothering you as much; you've grown numb to the way it stings, but it doesn't mean that there aren't days where you're pierced with a sudden and debilitating hollowness in your chest.

Here you are, half an adult but still a child, wondering if you know anything more than you did when you were 8.

You just want to go home, but you don't know where home is.

You look at the small pool of yellow acrylic paint that's been sitting on your palette for a while now. It feels so out of place among the other insipid tones, even though that has always been your intention - a burst of life amidst a sea of blues.

You don't think about anything in particular when your fingers pick up a brush and dab it in a generous amount of paint. It doesn't make much sense, but it feels right. You don't think about anything in particular when your hand smears the color on the cavas, on the figure, a startling stroke right in the center of her chest, contrasting all of the dulls and darkness surrounding.

Though, you do think of him afterward. Of him and daffodils and spring.

The rest of your friends are already present when you and Felix show up at Chan and Jess' shared apartment, holding boxes of pizzas and a case of beer.

It's a cute tradition that was started last year, when all of you promised to gather the final Friday of every month to have a cozy little dinner party among yourselves. It usually takes place at Chan's, since his apartment is bigger than the rest of yours, and because him and Jess are practically the parents of the group anyway.

The second you step into the living room, a chorus of groans erupts all around. Hyunjin and Jisung are the most vocal petulant babies, pouting from their seats, complaining that you two took too long and that they've been starving for hours.

You and Felix shrug off your jackets before delegating the tasks to the lot of them, since you were in charge of picking up the food for tonight. Minho and Seungmin grabbing plates and cups from the kitchen for Changbin and Jeongin to set on Chan's large coffee table.

You opt for a seat on the carpeted floor, next to the spot on the cream-colored couch where Minho left his phone, feeling more comfortable this way since the table is a little low for your liking. They come back a few minutes later, and you smile up at Minho when he reclaims his seat on the couch.

"Hi." He smiles back, smoothing a hand over your hair in greeting.

"Hi," you say. Even a touch so simple warms you up from the outside chill you were in mere minutes ago. No one else notices his lingering hand on you, or it's just such a you and Minho thing to be mildly affectionate with each other that the others don't care to comment on anymore.

You all fall into easy conversation soon after everyone starts digging in, chatting amongst yourselves as you always do. You and Hyunjin lament about your respective projects, reiterating the frustration that you've already expressed through your texts for the zillionth time. Chan and Jess nag Jeongin about introducing his girlfriend to the group, to which the younger one responds with an exaggerated groan as one would when their parents ask about grandchildren, though he does placate them by promising to bring her along the next time there's a party.

You don't care enough to tune into Minho's conversation with Changbin and Felix about the new gym they started going to. You do, however, catch Changbin's attempt to tease Minho. A playful scoff, followed by, "Minho lost his abs ages ago."

Your response is automatic and therefore, it doesn't warrant much thought from you before the words are tumbling out of your mouth. "No, he has abs. They're still there."

You don't recognize the weight of your words until you notice all chatter has halted, and you look up to find all eyes on you.

"How do you know that?" Jeongin is the one to voice everyone's collective thought, puzzled, a little surprised.

"Yeah, isn't Minho notoriously weird about that stuff?" Felix adds.

You blink in a daze, and you don't know if your face is reddening because of embarrassment but you sure hope that it isn't. The mouthful you're munching on gives you a reason to stall, your reputation of being a slow eater makes the excuse more believable when you don't answer right away.

As subtly as you can, you nudge Minho's leg with an elbow. He just laughs, though you're pretty certain he can tell that you're internally freaking out.

"I was walking her home from class a few weeks ago and we got caught in the rain. She let me come up to her apartment to change," he says calmly.

You remember that day. He was walking you from campus back to yours, so that part was true. But it didn't start raining until you were both sheltered in the comfort of your apartment, with him on top of you as he fucked you nice and slow on the couch. You didn't know when the rain stopped, but it must've been some time during your shower that you offered him to join with the innocent intention of cleaning yourselves up and saving water, only for him to end up on his knees with his face between your legs and his fingers buried deep inside of you. He'd made you come three times that afternoon, then took you out to udon afterward.

"And you just... changed in the middle of her living room or something?" Changbin asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Minho shrugs, completely nonchalant. "Yeah."

The silence in the room persists as you swallow down the bite. Their stare lingers on the pair of you, then they turn to look at each other like they're speaking a secret language that you're unfamiliar with. Why is it such a scandalous thing for you to see Minho without a shirt? You've seen your other guy friends shirtless numerous times before, when all of you are hanging out in someone's apartment on particularly hot summer days.

Though, they aren't wrong. The arrangement between the two of you muddles your memory, but you don't really remember seeing Minho flaunt his bare skin often before.

You're about to squeeze out a weak response to aid Minho's explanation, but your friends just start nodding along in acceptance.

"I guess that makes sense. If there's anyone who would see him naked, it'd be Y/N."

This definitely makes you blush. Minho laughs again.

"What?! I did not see him naked."

Well, look who's a liar now?

"Y/N, and whoever he's banging," Hyunjin supplies, which seriously doesn't help the flush on your cheeks at all.

"Why would it make sense that it was me?" you protest.

"Because you're his favorite." Jess is the one who answers, to which the rest of your friends all hum in agreement. The way they're reacting makes it seem as though it's just a fact of life that you're Minho's favorite, and that whatever boundary he lets you cross or whatever rule he breaks when it comes to you is simply a result of this fact.

Not once has it crossed your mind that everyone might have a favorite person in the group, but now that it's been said, you quickly conclude that Minho would be your favorite too (your secret arrangement notwithstanding.)

You glance up at him, seeking reassurance with a curious blink. "Am I?"

"You're alright," is what he tells you in lieu of a confirmation. "The least annoying one."

And you don't know if it's the way he speaks ever so gently when he looks at you or how his lips curl up in a knowing smile that sends a tingle of warmth down your spine. Or perhaps the culprit is the softness in his sharp eyes that makes you a little dizzy, makes a pair of butterflies go rampant at the pit of your stomach, as though they're prepared to soar when the ardor of spring begins to thaw the winter frost.

Chan laughs, "That's practically a declaration of love from Minho."

At one point, Hyunjin looks around and comments with a mouth stuffed full of pizza, "Wow. We are literally perfectly divided."

All eyes fall onto him, clearly no one is catching his drift.

Hyunjin swallows his food and washes it down with a big sip of beer before gesturing vaguely at the group, "All the singles are on the floor."

You look at the people on the couch while they stare back at you, Hyunjin, Seungmin, Changbin and Felix sitting comfortably on the fluffy rug.

"I'm single," Jisung says, pointing at himself. "Should I get on the floor?"

"No, you're not," Seungmin says flatly.

"What?"

"Didn't you get back together with your ex girlfriend?"

"What?" Jisung practically squeaks out. "Man, what are you talking about?"

"I live with you. We literally share a wall. I heard you last week. The whole two hours."

“You were home?!”

"My shoes were by the door. I had dishes in the sink. I went to the bathroom to pee several times."

Jisung gasps, growing redder and redder as more eyes start diverting their attention to him. He opens his mouth only to promptly close it as he thinks of what to say. Repeats the process a few times. "We didn't hear you. You never said anything," is what he settles on stuttering out. Then, "Why didn't you bring it up? Why do you have to air out my dirty laundry now?"

"It's more entertaining to embarrass you in front of everyone." Seungmin shrugs, and ignores Changbin's subsequent comment calling him a pervert. "And no wonder you didn't hear me. You were going at it like you were rabid."

"Wait," Jeongin says, "when did you even get back together?"

"We didn't. It's complicated! We're just… y'know…"

When Jisung trails off sheepishly with the bright blush still apparent on his cheeks, Minho cuts in, finishing his sentence bluntly, "Boning."

You send him a glare from where you're seated on the floor, to which he just gives you a lopsided grin and nudges you with his knee.

While everyone else is busy bombarding Jisung with questions on potentially getting back together with his ex, Minho quietly slithers down to the floor like a stealthy cat, squeezing himself into the space between you and Felix. Minho rests his arm behind you on the couch, leaving it stretched out comfortably on the cushions, just lightly touching your back. Usually, when you two are alone, he would have his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could pull you close, until you're safely tucked into his side where you would remain on most of your evenings spent together. But for now, he leaves his arm where it grazes you only slightly as you sit among friends, with the exception of his hand reaching to play with your hair once in a while.

"Hey!" Hyunjin practically screeches, pointing at Minho when he notices. "Why did you get on the floor?"

"What?" Minho asks innocently. "You said the singles are on the floor."

"You're not single. You have a girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You have a sneaky link."

"Hmm, not the same as a girlfriend."

"Why can't you just tell us, man? There's gotta be something else you're hiding."

You stay quiet, still as a statue while they bicker back and forth, like the mere motion of your breathing could give your secret away. You don't doubt that Hyunjin has been hounding Minho about his new discovery ever since the night of Yeonjun's party, but Minho seems unfazed about it, evading Hyunjin's badgering with a calm composure that's distinct to no one else.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom, quickly shuffling away as if your absence at the table would help make things seem less suspicious for Minho. You splash some water on your face, wait for a while until it feels like an appropriate amount of time has passed for them to have already moved onto another topic. You are, quite literally, hiding from your own friends.

Moments later, you re-enter the room with gentle footsteps and a certain tension in your spine, but you soon grow relieved when you find that the conversation has somehow shifted to Seungmin and his on-again off-again not-girlfriend, about which he just seems kinda sad for a few seconds before he's telling everyone to fuck off and mind their own business, always quick to conceal any and all emotions. He's similar to you in that way, you suppose.

You sit back down next to Minho who's still on the floor, though you put a little distance between your bodies that wasn't previously there. You don't know if it's enough to be noticeable, but he does look at you for a brief moment before leaning a bit closer, asking softly so only you could hear, "Walk you home later?"

You embark on the familiar route from Chan and Jess' place back to yours. It's not that late, barely even 10PM on a Friday night, but the streets are almost deserted. Barely anyone tipsily roaming the streets with their friends in tow; just a few cars passing by every now and then. You relish in the peace and quiet, sighing softly to yourself as you walk in the crisp evening air.

Minho takes casual strides next to you, letting his hand brush against your hand for a while until his pinky finds its way around yours. The tranquility of the city is nice, but being with Minho is even nicer.

Just some of the stars have come out to play, though the way they gleam and glimmer is enough to make up for what they lack in numbers. It's easy to get lost tonight, when you're looking up at an infinite sky with little light and only Minho's pinky hooked around yours like an anchor to guide you back home.

In the grand scheme of things, you're just a speck of dust. You're young and confused - 23 is still a child in your mind - and most of all, you're insignificant. Not in a self-disparaging way. Maybe in the literal sense of the word would be more accurate.

You are insignificant, merely a face among billions of faces. In a crowd of hundreds, or maybe only dozens, you're not someone who would stand out and be picked. Sometimes, it's nice to blend right in and hide in plain sight; you don't particularly enjoy being under the spotlight anyway. But sometimes, it's lonely to be just a drop in the ocean. You could sink right to the bottom and no one would even notice.

Maybe that's why you enjoy being around Minho so much. He makes you feel safe, and seen, like you matter in the end. He makes you feel like if you were to disappear one day, there's a person out there who would go to the ends of the earth in search of you.

You hope that he sticks around, that he wants to be in your life for as long as you can have him. You're not sure what it is that makes you sick to your stomach at the mere thought of losing him; perhaps because you know you will never come across another one like Minho in your lifetime. There's nobody else that can make you feel the same way he does.

I don't want to lose you. You're the only good thing I have.

An intersection, two left turns, and your apartment building comes into view all too soon.

"Wanna come up?" you ask bashfully. The streetlights do a good job at masking your light flush.

"I can't tonight," he says, a little apologetic. "I'm going to my parents' house first thing in the morning."

"Oh." You're disappointed for no specific reason. Sure, you were practically glued to Minho's side for most of the evening, but you were also surrounded by the very friends who are unaware that you two have been sneaking around behind their backs. It's been about over a week since you hung out with him alone, which isn't that long ago by any means, but still. "For the weekend?"

"Yeah, just for the weekend."

There's a selfish urge, just a tiny one, to ask him to come for a while anyway, maybe only twenty minutes or so, but you swallow it down and wave it away. "Okay, have fun. Say hi to the cats for me."

"I'll send you pictures," he tells you. "They miss you, y'know."

You smile at that, laughing a little. "They've met me once."

Last fall, you and your friends all took a weekend trip to Minho's childhood home for his birthday. It was fun for you, though you're not sure how much his parents actually enjoyed it, considering they had to house and feed almost a dozen kids that weren't their own. You remember the cats, of course you do, and how Soonie took an immediate liking to you, how he mostly hovered around your personal space whenever you were in the house.

"No, seriously. My mom says Soonie meows your name once a day."

You throw him an eye roll, accompanied by a light punch to his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Min," you say. "Text me when you get home."

"Okay."

Even after that, the two of you still stay rooted to the spot, your pinkies interlocked. Minho's gaze doesn't leave your face, and for a moment there, it feels like most of the stars didn't show up because they all left to gather in his eyes.

"Can't go up if you don't let me,” you quip, glancing at your hands, knowing full well that you can easily retract your finger if you want to.

His eyes stay on you for just a moment longer. "Let me kiss you," he asks softly, releasing your pinky only to take your hand in his, tugging you closer until you’re all up in each other's personal space.

You blink at him, your heart caught somewhere in your throat. You're close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. "Min…" you murmur but you don't actually know what you want to tell him, so the nickname hangs like an idle lantern in the bubble of space between your faces.

"Just a goodnight kiss."

"Friends don't kiss," you say meekly, reminiscent of your conversation over a week ago.

"Friends don't have sex either," he repeats.

"But we’re not having sex."

"You asked me to come upstairs. What do you think we would've done?"

And he's right. If he had agreed to come up, then you would probably be pressed against the door right now, with his hands trailing down your body, removing every article of clothing they find, his lips kissing every exposed patch of skin along the way.

Minho would've been kissing you regardless - anywhere and everywhere, and you wouldn't have had any qualms about it like you do right now, even though you want to kiss him too.

"Maybe I wanted you to come up to make you peel tangerines for me while we watch a movie."

He says nothing to that, only grins amusedly and leans in to nudge his nose against yours. It's so cute that you can't help but mirror the quirk of his lips. You're sure that no one else gets to see this version of him - the one that boops you like an overly affectionate cat and smiles like you're his favorite person not just in your little group, but in the whole wide world.

"I haven't kissed you all week," he murmurs, his voice so gentle in the quietude that surrounds you. "You were right there but I couldn't kiss you all night."

You lose yourself in his brown eyes, the same eyes that hold nothing but sincerity and fondness for you. The stars here are brighter than the ones overhead.

"Let me kiss you," Minho says, "please?"

You cave. Of course you do.

The first glide of his lips over yours has you weak in the knees. Something sinks in as he kisses you deeply. Under the streetlights, not surrounded by your familiar four walls like a long lost secret but out in the open where anyone can see, even though there's not a single soul around.

Again, tears well up behind your eyelids the same way they did that morning you woke up next to him for the first time. You don't know what it is, never felt this way around anyone except for him. It's akin to the feeling of finally coming home after being away for a long time, or at least that's what you think that's how it would feel.

You don't want to be caged in by the walls of your own making. You want to be seen, and you want to be seen by him. You're the remnants of snow and ice stuck between cracks in the sidewalk, and he is warmth. You're a mosaic of a daffodil garden caught in an endless winter, and he is spring. Minho is the brief but wonderful moment when cherry blossoms have yet to fall from their branches, but green leaves are already growing impatiently, resulting in the beautiful coexistence of pinks and greens if only just for a few days.

You let him kiss you until you're both out of breath, let him wrap his strong arms around your body and hold you like he could mend all of your broken pieces. Maybe he could. Maybe you'd like him to make you whole again.

When Minho pulls away, he doesn't stray very far. He puts enough distance between your faces so you can catch your breath. But even then, you have a hard time getting air back into your lungs. He's looking at you like he would pick the moon for you if you asked, like moving mountains is no more difficult than peeling tangerines for you whenever you get a craving.

The streetlights are dim, but the stars in his eyes are bright enough to tell you something that his words don't.

It hits you all at once, in a moment where even the wind is still, as if it's been reduced to a mere spectator, watching the two of you with bated breath on the sidelines. The tipping point can be something as simple as him asking - almost pleading - to kiss you goodnight with no ulterior motive, no other intention than because he wants to. As though it would kill him if he had to go another minute without kissing you.

You realize why he's the yellow to your sea of blues, why you're so happy every time you look at the bracelet on your wrist. You realize why you feel so safe around him, why he makes you experience emotions that no one else can. You realize why you don’t like hearing about Hana, or any other person in the same sentence as his name with the implication that he could be romantically involved with them.

You realize why you kissed him for the first time all those months ago, and it wasn't because you were sad and he just happened to be there and let you cry on his shoulder. The times that your friends would tell you how you and Minho would be perfect together - you wanted it to be true. You knew it was true - that he was someone you could love, the only person who's worth opening up to. You kissed him because you wanted to love him. You realize why it made you soar when he kissed you back, because you wanted him to love you too.

You realize why the thought of losing this friendship terrifies you. You realize why you asked him to stay that night after the party and the club, even though you had never allowed him to sleep over before. You realize why the other week you let him only kiss you and nothing else, and you realize why your heart is hammering in your chest this very second, why your knees are weak, why you can't really breathe here in the middle of an empty street under a moonless sky, just because he's looking at you as if it's not the sun that the earth revolves around but rather, it's a girl who has never learned how to say what she means.

You're good at leaving things alone; it's a skill that you've unintentionally mastered over the years. Nothing has to change if you let it remain the same. And yet, the one exception always seems to be Minho, and you're a mirror of yourself when you're with him. You like the version of you that only he's able to bring out, and he does it effortlessly every time. He pulls happiness out of you so easily that it's hard to ignore what you feel for him, hard to convince yourself that what you harbor for him is still only platonic affection.

It comes bubbling up to the surface without your permission. It strikes you the same way lightning splits open the whole sky on a cloudless night, abrupt and unmistakeable. Love isn't something that you've ever come close to, and you have always been an unbeliever when people answer "You just know," in response to "How do you know when it is love?"

Though as you stand right here, right now, you think maybe this is what love is supposed to look like, personified with starry eyes and shallow dimples when he smiles.

Before he leaves, Minho presses another sweet kiss to your cheek. You're still dazed by the dawning, overwhelmed by the recognition that you can only mutter a stupid "Bye," when he bids you good night.

As you watch him go, there's something else you realize, almost tragically, that you've always been a ruiner. You run away the moment shit starts getting too real, even if it means letting beautiful things slip through your fingers like running water.

Love just isn't something you've ever learned to hold.

He threw the curtains aside and cracked the windows open earlier, letting into the room a shower of late-afternoon sun. It now dyes his skin a dewy caramel, lightens his eyes to pools of molten amber. For some time, you are unable to respond, enraptured by all the wonder that he holds. 

Eventually, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, dip down, rid of the distance between you with a soft seal of your mouth his. He doesn’t move until he’s overcome his surprise, but then he brings one hand to your waist, slipping beneath the sheer fabric of your top to press your hips down onto his, and wraps the other around the base of your neck, the pad of his thumb settling over your jugular like a gossamer wing.

You sigh in pleasure and part your lips; he pursues this opening with a fervor, pliant tongue keeping your mouth ajar, head tilting to one side to better savor you, your teeth knocking and limbs entwining in this passionate fray.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. You’re underneath him now, his hands positioned on either side of your head. His eyes are no longer amber but obsidian, his mouth ravaged and raw in the aftermath of colliding time and time again with yours. The sun has largely vanished beneath the skyline.

You collect yourself just enough to procure an answer to his question.

“Every time I look at you feels like the first,” you whisper.

Minho doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe in spite of how you’d just kissed the air straight from his lungs, doesn’t believe his ears. For that is the exact way he feels about you, always has been and always will, though you have always been the one to first verbalize the feelings that he doesn’t have the words for.

For some time, he is unable to respond, enraptured by all the wonder that you hold.

Eventually, he combs a hand through his hair, dips down, rids of the distance between you with a hard crash of his mouth upon yours, and there the two of you will remain until it’s no longer light from the sun that sets your room aglow, but that of the moon and a hundred thousand stars.

Seungmin shakes his head jerkily, a strangled moan falling from his lips. Minho clicks up the intensity another notch and watches with breathless fascination as Seungmin' moans loudly and arches 's back arches's back arches, right into your waiting arms, his head digging into your clothed chest. His legs kick out, snagging on the sheets. There's a pretty bulge in his sweatpants, a little wet spot colouring the fabric.

"Puppy," you coo, and Seungmin moans, blinks up at you from where his head is lying against you. He whimpers and then laughs, breathlessly.

"S-so good," he whispers, breathless, almost in tears.

When Minho reaches out, traces one finger over his clothed cock, he almost screams, his whole body arching with oversensitivity.

He clicks the remote even higher and Seungmin whines, high, loud, utterly debauched, before he dissolves into more helpless giggles.

"Ah, fuck, more, please, give me more," Seungmin begs with something that sounds half like a sob and half like a chuckle. It makes Minho half blind with need.

"You sure you can handle more?" you coo, let your lithe fingers dance down Seungmin's chest, brushing against his overheating skin, until you reach his nipples. You pinch one and Seungmin sobs, turns his head, hides it in the fabric of your shirt.

"Yes, y-yes, just like that," he howls and you rub his nipple harder. Minho thinks he might lose his mind.

There's a dull knock on the door.

"Is ... is everything okay in there?"

Chan's voice is sheepish, uncertain and Minho can't help but bark out a laugh.

"We're good, hyung," he calls back, his eyes glued to where Seungmin is clutching onto you for dear life, rocking his hips up into nothing, seeking for friction. "Right, puppy? Tell Channie how good we're being to you."

Seungmin drags his head up, blinks blearily, like the motion took all his effort.

"Y-yes, hyung," he says in the direction of the door, "everything is," he hiccups, "everything's good, I'm good, I'm .... aaaaah oh god."

His whole body jerks, his sentence cut off by a defeaning moan when Minho grabs his cock through his sweats and squeezes him, hard.

"O-okay, then," Chan squeaks out from behind the door and Minho laughs again. He stows away the knowledge that they're all out there listening, that Chan likely wishes he could be in Seungmin's place, for a later date.

For now, he clicks the remote again and squeezes Seungmin's cock and Seungmin howls, giggles, thrashes, sinks his teeth into your sleeve.

Minho thinks he might go insane.

"Jisungie?" he calls, sweetly, softly.

Jisung's head whips from Seungmin to Minho, his eyes huge and glassy, his lips so red and swollen from where he has been biting them. He sits pretty, legs folded underneath himself, right next to the bed, hands and his chin resting on the mattress. So obedient, so perfect, so pretty.

"Come suck daddy's cock while I play with puppy, hm?"

taglist bc i think this is hot, even if it's short aksjdhakh

“I don’t- I can’t-”

Seungmin’s lips press to yours again soothingly. He’s still sweaty from the fan meeting, and his lips are a little wet. “It’s okay, calm down.”

You’re backstage and way too worked up. Going to the fan meeting and seeing your boyfriend in all his glory onstage was one thing, but when he walked out in that damn Diesel top? Yeah, you were sure you’d had a heart attack. You jumped his bones as soon as he walked backstage and he’d carted you off to the nearest separate dressing room to ‘calm you down’, much to the jeers of the other boys. 

There’s sweat beading onto your chest by the time you get him to stop kissing you, and you sink to your knees, breathing hot air over the front of Seungmin’s jeans. He peers down at you with a raised eyebrow, hands moving to his belt. 

“Really? Right here?” He asks, and you only nod. “You’re feeling a little filthy today, aren’t you?”

“Don’t tease me,” You huff, nose nudging his growing erection. He wraps his fist around your hair and pulls you backwards, making you look up at him. He looks ever the image of power - the choice of attire accentuates the milky skin of his arms, and his eyes are dark when he tuts at you for ogling him like that. “You look so good.”

“Behave,” He murmurs. You nod again. You can’t do anything else when he’s in a mood like this, only nod and feel the gusset of your panties sticking to your messy folds. He’s feeling strict, but if you keep pouting up at him, eyes glassy, perhaps he’ll let you have it. 

“Please,” You beg, bottom lip quivering. You’re not above crying to suck your boyfriend’s cock, and he knows that - hell, he’s made you cry over it before and probably will again. Tonight, though, it seems he’s feeling a little kinder than normal, because he lets go of your hair and starts to unbuckle his belt. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah, gimme, gimme-”

“Shut up,” He admonishes, eyebrows furrowed in contention. He pulls his belt from the waist of his jeans and they drop down to his thighs, stopped by the lean muscle. Only a beat passes before he lets you see it, firstly with the trimmed, pitch-black hair at his base, and then with the whole length of his cock bobbing up against the bottom of his abdomen. He’s still only half hard, a little soft when he polishes his cockhead with his hand, but it only takes a second before he’s standing at full mast. 

You can hear noises from outside the door. It only serves to make you leak more into your underwear, shifting on your knees from where you are in front of him, but you’d never wish to rush Seungmin. He stares at you while you writhe, and then finally, finally, he nods.

You know what that nod means. You’re suckling the tip in seconds. He leaks steadily for you, and you whimper around his length when he moans at your actions. You’re used to sucking him off by now, and so you start to bob your head on as much as you can fit, moving your fist to pump the part of his length that you can’t quite reach. Seungmin’s hips thrust forwards once, twice, and then he gives up, moving his hands to your head.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat,” He murmurs. He gives you enough time to pull away, but you don’t, only moaning and moving your hands to rest on his thighs. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me do that here? That’s so fucking slutty.”

Of course you are. Your jaw goes lax, and Seungmin groans, his eyes rolling back into his head as he starts to thrust. He presses into your throat over and over, making your eyes water as you gaze up at him, but the whole thing’s so hot you can’t protest. Seungmin’s normally iffy about messes but with the way you’re drooling all over his cock, you’re not sure he minds right now.

You can’t help yourself. Your hand dips underneath your skirt and starts to rub circles into your clit, through your panties and Seungmin’s oblivious for a moment. He thrusts into your mouth a few more times and it’s the wet whine you let out that gives you away - Seungmin’s eyes open, peering down at your disshevelled figure on the floor.

“Mm, don’t do all of that,” He murmurs condescendingly. His thrusts stop and he lets his shaft slide out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. You’re allowed to sit there and gasp for air for a moment, but then Seungmin’s boot nudges into your knee.

The position’s a little awkward, but you spread your legs and let him push his boot underneath your skirt for you to hump into. It’s a nice gesture from Seungmin, who’s normally scathing words and even worse spankings, but then he fucks into your throat so hard it makes you gag. 

“Take it,” He huffs, and then he’s doing something ultimately worse. With his fingers intertwined in your hair, he grips your head and starts to bounce it on his cock. You’re whining hard by now, hips kicking up a fuss on your boyfriend’s shoe, and you see his eye twitch when you gag on one pull downwards with a sharp wail.

He pulls out of your mouth with a fuss. He’s quick to yank you up by your hair, pulling you over to the nearest vanity to bend you over. You don’t mind - you’re embarrassingly eager, actually, letting your knees fall apart to show your man the mess you’ve made of yourself. His hand moves to your hair to push your skirt over your ass. The cold air hitting the sodden fabric of your underwear has you keening, pushing your ass backwards. You can’t see yourself from your position, tummy down on the vanity table and face buried in your arms, but you know you must look like a certain debauched type of picture. 

“You wanted me that bad, huh?” He muses, thumb sweeping over your core. You whimper, nodding with a twitch of your leg, and then Seungmin’s yanking your panties to the side. Before you can squeal, to make a noise to acknowledge him, he’s sinking his whole length in you at once. “There you go. You’ve got it now, feel it, whore. Feels good?”

“Feels s’good,” You slur, drool slicking your bottom lip just from the stretch of him. Seungmin’s longer than he is thick but he’s still enough to have your pussy throbbing, clit aching for stimulation from the feeling of him pressing at your walls. “Feels g-good, fuck me, fuck me- please, please, guh- gotta-”

“Yeah, okay,” He sighs, as if he’s annoyed, and then he’s rutting into you so hard you swear your eyes cross. Seungmin groans and grunts with each gush of your pussy around him, and when his hand moves to your hair again, he’s yanking your face out of its safe haven. “Look at yourself. Fucking look at that.”

You have to. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and you’re drooling so hard it’s affected some of your makeup. Your cheeks are flushed, obvious that it spreads down your neck and to your chest, and you’re still fucking your hips backwards to try and get more of him. 

“Please,” You watch yourself say it, lips kiss-bitten and broken. “Please give it to me harder, Seungminnie, I need it.”

“You need it?” He questions, just to watch you nod so hard you look like a dumb little bobblehead. “Okay. Don’t take it back, then.” 

His confidence would be sickening if it isn’t for the way he starts to fuck into you so hard you squeal. His mushroom tip kicks into your cervix with every thrust, and you can see him gritting his teeth with the speed of it all. He’s still holding your hair, and you watch yourself finally begin to cry, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. 

You whine and writhe, and Seungmin’s other hand goes to your ass to keep you down, laid flat for him. Your nipples are so hard through your shirt that it’s starting to hurt, and when you shift your hips again, he hits a spot so good that you sob wetly.

“There! There, there, there, please don’t- don’t stop, Seungmin, I’ll fucking cum,” You babble, and your eyes finally fall shut. Seungmin doesn’t reprimand you for it, only continuing his pistoning into that same exact spot that has you babbling out profanities and half-spoken words. “Yeah. Yeah! There, there, fucking- I’ll cum so good, I’ll cum so-”

“I know you will, f-fucking whore,” His voice is faltering, and you know he’s getting close. “Cum for me. Shut up and just fucking cum.”

It explodes behind your eyes. Your toes curl with it and you gush and wail on Seungmin’s cock, walls fluttering so deliciously around the slick slide. He helps you ride it out, hand now pulling you backwards with each thrust, and then he’s letting go of your hair so unceremoniously it falls with a thud back to your arms.

You’re just panting now, pussy still clenching down on your boyfriend through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and Seungmin starts to chase his high. It only takes a few ridiculously fast thrusts for him to finish, and he pumps you full of his cum easily with a loud groan. 

He slips out of you and you let out a whimper, causing him to make his own answering, mock-whimper in response. You hear him shuffling about behind you and when you finally open your eyes, tilting your head towards him, he’s looking for tissues with his wet cock in his hand. 

“Seungminnie,” You giggle, kicking your feet. The action only causes his cum to drip out of your pussy and down your thighs, and you groan in disdain, immediately halting his movements. 

the first tropes to come to mind for @rachalixie and minho are literally just. not even really tropes. established relationship. domestic fluff. slice of life. they're That Couple. nobody remembers when they weren't together. they invite me over for dinner when i've had a bad day. mom and dad

@like-a-diamondinthesky and seungmin are the EPITOME of (fake) enemies to lovers. they're the sweetest, silliest, most sinister people and i just know their dynamic would be a dream come true for each other and a nightmare for everyone else

sue is just her "eighteen" mc in my head so @soobnny and seungmin scream best friends to lovers + college au to me. seung being the best cheerleader for her while she's crazy busy :') also she flusters v easily and i think he'd get a kick out of that (ik i do)

@luvtak and felix are giving childhood friends to lovers! the sort of relationship where they know each other better than they've ever known anything; really just the safest, warmest, and kindest of affections for the safest, warmest, and kindest of people

i'm gonna cheat again and hc @sunboki and chan as a trope from august's mafia au "korea's most wanted"; augs is so creative and badass and SEXY and so is the main couple's dynamic in that fic. chan's a lucky man. DITCH HIM FOR ME 🗣️

@txtxlz and jeongin would be a multipart messy love triangle ft. jealousy and pining and so much chaos bc haz has more biases than i have fingers or toes and i love love the idea of her favorite idols going to war over her. it's what my baby deserves fr

for @2baabbies and felix, i imagine perhaps a barista au or a librarian au (hehehehe) where he finds stupid excuses to come back and pick bae's brain every day because he's utterly enraptured by her. she has that effect on people and lix would NOT be immune

@starsandrqindrops and seungmin are so fwb-coded. think suffocating chemistry every time they interact. could cut the tension with a dull machete. then inevitably complications like Feelings come into play and they dance around each other for ages before finally giving in ... mm yes all that good stuff